Missing Pieces
by AstraPerAspera
Summary: The death of Jacob Carter precipitates a great deal of changes in the lives of Sam and Jack. These are the missing pieces of the story from Threads through Line in the Sand. Updated, with spoilers for Unending.
1. Chapter 1

**MISSING PIECES**

**Chapter 1**

**LOOSE ENDS**

In the end the Tok'ra allowed Sam to bury her father next to her mother, forgoing the usual cremation ceremony that was their custom out of deference to the unique blending that Jacob and Selmak had had. A few members of the Tok'ra High Council had actually attended the funeral, their unusual attire drawing some odd glances from the human friends of the Carter family who had no inkling of what Jacob Carter had become in the past six years. The day was overcast and chill, the two dozen or so people who had gathered at the graveside drawing their coats around them to fight off a stiff wind that would whip Sam's hair against her cheek like a lash.

On the other side of the casket, her brother Mark, his wife and two children stood, facing into the wind, their cheeks pink and their Southern Californian bodies obviously unaccustomed to the brisk temperature of a late Colorado spring. Sam felt guilty looking at them. Her relationship with her father had been so close these past years, mostly because they had worked so much together. Jacob had mended fences with Mark too and spent as much time with him and his family as he could manage, but it had never reached the level that she had enjoyed with her father. And since Mark did not know the truth of what she or Jacob did, or even what Jacob had become, it made it that much harder. She wanted so badly to tell him how heroic their father had been, what he had done to help save their planet—in fact, the whole galaxy—how he had sacrificed his life to make the weapon work that had eventually defeated the replicators and Anubis; how much they all owed him. But she couldn't. Her brother would never know, and it pained her that this truer understanding of their father would be kept from him forever.

The wind beat at Sam's back in a blustery gust and she sensed more than saw Jack and Teal'c move in closer to her, as if trying to shield her from it. Jack, as she, was in his full dress uniform. She seldom saw him in it, and when she did, he always seemed different. Day to day, as he schlepped around the SGC in his BDUs, he was just one of the troops. But once in dress blues his whole demeanor changed, and now that he sported a general's star it seemed as though the weight of the uniform seemed especially onerous to him. Sam knew he had mixed feelings about accepting the leadership of the SGC and had done it more out of a sense of protecting the SGC than any real desire for the rank or the responsibility that it entailed. Nearly a year had passed since his promotion, and although he seemed more at ease with himself and the job than he had in the beginning, she didn't get the sense that he enjoyed it any more. She knew him well enough to know that his heart went with them every time they stepped through the gate, and he relished any chance he could to go off world himself, as their foray to rescue Maybourne a few months ago had proven.

Teal'c, as ever, was a bastion of strength. His forehead strategically covered by a hat, he was an intimidating presence nonetheless. She had seen a few distant family members glace at him uncertainly, trying to figure out how he fit in with a retired US Air Force General, but she hadn't bothered to try to explain anything. Nor had she tried to explain Cassie, who had stood by her side through the receiving line, and had held Sam's hand during the service. With first Daniel and now her father gone, the last thing Sam felt like doing was trying to think up cover stories for the few people in the world that she still cared about. Let people wonder. She wasn't going to explain.

Neither was she going to explain why Pete was not there. Jack had asked about him, as had her brother, but she had given some vague reply to both of them and knew she had left them wondering. She was wondering herself, truth be told: not why he hadn't come, but why she hadn't invited him.

Some of it, she knew, had to do with the sense she had that her father and Pete never would have gotten along. Their first meeting had been a near disaster. Pete, in his nervousness, had babbled constantly, trying to be funny as a way to cover his discomfort. Not that Jacob Carter didn't have a sense of humor, but it certainly didn't run in the same vein as Pete Shanahan's. Sam's worst fears over the meeting had nearly come true, and after a tortuous hour and a half, Pete had mercifully left. Her father's lack of comment afterwards had told her everything she needed to know; Pete had not gotten high marks. At another point in her life she might not have cared what her father thought. But that was a different Sam—and a different Jacob. Their short stint in Hell had changed them and their relationship forever, and even though Sam had insisted to her dad that she was going to marry Pete, deep down she had been troubled by Jacob's failure to warm up to him. That her father had not liked Pete did matter to her, and it had added fuel to a flame of doubt that had already been burning deep inside of her.

Jacob hadn't helped things along in the following days either. Dying, he had put the truth before her as plainly as he could without actually stating it. He knew. Sam wondered if it was a father's insight or if she had just been so obvious that everyone on the base was aware of her feelings. Of course she had denied it, asserted she was happy, that she had everything she wanted, but it was a lie. She knew it. Her father knew it. He had given her an indulgent smile, the kind he gave when he knew she was being stubborn, and backed off. But his words had stayed with her, playing over and over again in her head, and each time her own response to them sounded more and more hollow.

And then Jacob was gone. She had stood there, next to him, and suddenly wished she had told him so many things. Despite how close they had become there was so much she had still held back. Now she wanted to tell him everything: how she felt and whom she loved and why her life, in so many ways, was wonderful and yet so damned frustrating at the same time. Sam had held his hand and let the tears come.

The door behind her had opened and then Jack had been there. He had let her be alone with her father when he died, remaining in the observation room. But then he had come. His hand on her shoulder offering comfort, but at that moment she had wanted—she had needed—more. Turning to him she'd stepped into his arms. Even then she could sense his moment of hesitation, and then he had held her as she had wept.

When she had finally run out of tears, she'd pulled away. Their eyes had met, and in that moment something changed. Sam wasn't sure, how, or why, but it did.

And that, thought Sam , if she was being honest with herself, was the real reason Pete was not at Jacob Carter's funeral. She had known, in that instant of unspoken communication with Jack that she could never, ever marry Pete. That as nice as he was, as much as she cared for him, her life was not meant to be a normal life, with a yellow kitchen and a dog in the back yard and a nice safe day job that ended at six pm every evening. At least not now. And it would not be fair to Pete to marry him when, despite her best efforts, she loved Jack. Had always loved Jack. Would always love Jack.

And now she knew that Jack loved her. It had been there in his eyes. It had been there in his casual remark a few days later that he and Kerry Johnson had broken things off. It didn't make things any easier—he was still her commanding officer—but it had been enough.

The Air Force honor guard was folding the flag that had covered her father's casket. With precision they made every fold, turn and tuck, brought it to her, saluted and then stepped back. Overhead a formation of jets roared past, one breaking away to leave a gap—the missing man formation. Sam felt her throat catch and her breath came jaggedly. Of all the honor ceremonies the military did, the missing man formation had always gotten to her the most. A hand at the small of her back offered her quiet support and she looked at Jack gratefully. Finally, across the cold, clear cemetery, came the brief report of three successive rifle shots followed by the ringing of Taps from some distant hill, and then it was over.

Sam drove Mark and his family to the airport and went home alone. Cassie was spending the night at a friend's, so the house was dark and silent when she arrived. As they left the cemetery, Jack had asked her if she were going to be all right. She assured him she was, but now her certainty slipped. The aloneness settled on her like a dark mantel and she wished desperately that Cassie had not been gone. Sam switched on the TV, so there would at least be another voice to listen to beside the one inside her head, but the incessant news shows or the inane other fare that she found cruising the channels was barely tolerable. In frustration she turned the TV off and opted for the silence instead.

Which was why the sudden chime of the doorbell startled her. Still in her uniform skirt and blouse, she opened the door to find Jack standing there, still in his uniform as well.

"Sir," she said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Jack shrugged.

"I don't know." He mugged a grin. "Actually, it's a funny story. I was out driving. You know, in my truck," he indicated the dark street where his truck was obviously parked. "And I drove here. So I thought, hey, I'd drop by and see how you're doing."

Sam smiled, in spite of herself.

"I see…come in?"

Jack made a show of moving reluctantly inside. Sam closed the door behind him. The chilly day was giving way to a chillier night.

"You just get home?" he asked, indicating her attire.

"Yeah—I had to drive Mark and his family to the airport."

Jack looked around.

"Where's Cassie?"

"She's staying the night with a friend."

"Ah." Jack paused. "Pete?"

Sam looked at him squarely.

"Uh, Pete doesn't live here, sir."

Jack looked a little uncomfortable.

"No—I just thought…I mean, I just thought, since he wasn't at the funeral today…."

Sam downed her head for a moment, and then looked back up at him.

"No, he wasn't."

Jack looked at her with an "and" written all over his face.

"To be honest, General, I didn't invite him."

Jack seemed to take in this news carefully.

"Oh…?"

"Well, it's not so much that I didn't invite him," Sam hurried to explain. "I just…didn't exactly tell him when it was going to be."

Jack studied her.

"Any particular reason why? I mean, he is your…fiancé,"

"No—he's not," Sam replied quickly. Jack raised an eyebrow at her, obviously surprised by her words.

"I mean…I'm calling off the wedding." Sam swallowed hard, watching Jack for any reaction. His face was curious, but she could read nothing more there.

"Does Pete know this?" he asked her. Sam winced.

"Not yet. I haven't exactly had a chance to tell him."

"Ah," he replied. "Awkward."

"Yeah," Sam conceded, nodding. She blew out a deep breath.

They stood for a few moments in silence, Sam's brain refusing to function in any coherent way. Part of it was just the fatigue of the day, but part of it was equally due to her memory of the last time she and Jack had been alone and what she had thought she had read in his eyes. Now, having told him Pete was out of the picture, the logical thing seemed to be to finally get things out in the open, just as she had planned to do the day she had stopped at Jack's house. But logic didn't necessarily inspire articulation, and the silence lingered.

Finally Jack, looking a tad uncomfortable, spoke:

"Look, Carter—this past week, I know it's been rough, so if you need some time…."

Time off? Was that what this visit was about? God, had she been that stupid?

"No!" Her reaction was quick—sharper than she had intended. "I mean, I don't need any time. I'd rather be doing something than…." she indicated the empty house and shrugged.

Jack nodded, knowingly. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his overcoat.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever you want." He paused a moment. "So…you okay here tonight?"

Sam was about to give the bravado answer, the one her life had trained her to give. But it wasn't the truth. She wasn't all right and she desperately didn't want to be alone. She hesitated just long enough that Jack seemed to sense something.

"Cuz, you know, I could hang around a while, if you'd like…"

He'd saved her. Saved her from having to confess that she didn't want him to leave. Her face broke into a grateful smile.

"Sure—yeah, that'd be great. Do you mind if I…" she indicated her uniform. Jack waved her off.

"Go—go. I'd love nothing more than to get out of this monkey suit myself." He shed the overcoat and then the uniform jacket, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the collar of his shirt in one swift move.

Sam sighed with relief and disappeared to change into some jeans and a sweatshirt. The strain of the day was settling in on her. Her body ached all over and she wanted nothing more than to curl up on the sofa and try to think of absolutely nothing. In a way she was glad Jack hadn't brought up their…whatever it was. Too many emotions had already assaulted her that day; she wasn't sure she could handle any more.

"Mind if I put the hockey game on?" called Jack from her living room. Sam told him to go ahead. Hockey would be just mind-numbing enough to help her relax. When she returned to the living room Jack seemed to have made himself at home on the sofa, his feet propped on the coffee table and a bottle of beer in his hand.

"Hockey," pronounced Jack. "The sport of kings."

"I thought horse-racing was the sport of kings," countered Sam sitting next to him and tucking her legs up beneath her.

"Okay—the sport of really cold kings. Norwegian kings. Olaf and the Scandinavians. Oof-dah. You know."

"If you say so, sir."

She felt him stiffen beside her.

"Carter—Sam…. Could you not do that "sir" thing. We're off duty, for God's sake."

Sam was taken aback. In all the years she had only called him by his first name to his face a handful of times, and only under the most desperate of circumstances. Ever since her experience alone on the Prometheus, in her thoughts he was always "Jack", but years had trained her tongue to translate that into military protocol. This would be...different.

"You like hockey?" Jack asked, not giving her time to say anything in response.

"I can't say I'm a big fan," Sam confessed, glad to change the subject. Jack turned and eyed her suspiciously.

"Don't tell me you're one of those NASCAR types?"

Sam smiled and shook her head.

"If I can't drive it, I don't want to watch it."

Jack nodded, satisfied.

Sam indicated the screen.

"Who's playing?"

"The Canucks and the Bruins. It's the play-offs."

Sam nodded, trying to show an interest, but she couldn't. The speed of the puck and the swiftness of the skaters had a hypnotizing effect on her. Before long she jerked her head up, having dozed off. Jack caught her.

"Don't tell me you think this is boring?" he admonished her.

"Sorry—guess I'm kinda tired."

"Time for me to go?" He set down his beer and moved to get up.

"No!" She realized she had said it too quickly, but she couldn't help it. She'd watch hockey all night if she had to, as long as Jack stayed. "I mean, not unless you really have to."

Jack stretched out his legs and put them back up on the coffee table.

"Nope. I've got no place else to be. Teal'c asked if I wanted to watch _Star Wars_—you know, the new version? But I don't know. I just wasn't in the mood to watch some kid grow up and become Dark Helmet."

Sam eyed him suspiciously. He was doing his "Jack" thing.

"I think you mean Darth Vader."

"Oh yeah? Darth Vader? You sure?"

"Pretty sure," Sam replied, in a tone to indicate that she was absolutely positive. Jack's brow was furrowed.

"Then Dark Helmet was…?"

"_Space Balls_. It was a Mel Brooks movie."

"Mel Brooks—isn't he the guy that did the voice for Bugs Bunny?"

"That was Mel Blanc," said Sam, with a weariness that was only partially feigned.

"Really?" Jack paused a moment. "You sure Dark Helmet's not _Star Wars_? I mean the guy had the mask and a big…dark…helmet…?" Jack's voice trailed away

"Trust me. I'm sure."

Jack shrugged and turned back to the game. Sam smiled in spite of herself. It always amused her when Jack did one of his, "how stupid am I" routines. Well, almost always. There had been a few occasions when his pretended denseness was quite irritating. But it had usually been Daniel who rose to the bait. Their verbal dueling had seemed to happen less and less since Jack was in command , and Sam had missed it. Daniel's loss sprang to her thoughts again, adding weight to her weariness.

Sam turned her attention back to the television. Anything to take her mind off of…everything. A fight seemed to have broken out on the ice. The benches were emptying onto the rink and sticks were flying in every direction. It looked like a mess. Sam leaned her head back and closed her eyes, listening to the announcers and the roaring crowd. The sounds blended and swirled like colors in a kaleidoscope, and eventually faded to nothingness.

Sam awoke in a dark room and took a few moments to recollect who she was and where she was. The TV was dark and silent, and her automatic timer had shut off the table lamp. A heavy weight was resting on her arm and her pillow seemed to be rising and falling with a slow rhythm. There was even a faint beating sound within it.

When full consciousness came, she realized that the pillow was Jack's chest, the rising and falling his steady breathing, the beating, the sound of his heart. And the weight that pinned her arm to her side was Jack's arm, wrapped around her, holding her against him. Sam checked her illuminated watch and saw that it was after 5 am, nearly time to get up if she was going to be at work on time. She wasn't sure how exactly the two of them had ended up together like this—the last thing she remembered was a fight at the hockey game. Jack must have fallen asleep too. Why else would he still be here?

Sam carefully eased his arm off of her and tried to sit up. Jack woke in an instant, the jerkiness of his movement suggesting to her that he was uncertain as to where he was as well.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"What time is it?" he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Sam checked her watch again.

"Five-fifteen. I need to get ready if I'm going to make it to work on time."

"Whoa. I gotta go too. I've got an 0630 conference call with Hammond and a bunch of guys at the Pentagon. They really hate it when I'm late."

Sam decided to brave it.

"Jack—why are you still here?"

In the early morning darkness that wasn't really that dark she could tell he was studying her.

"I just thought…you know. You might want somebody around last night …if you like, needed to talk or anything."

The simpleness of the gesture touched her. He had spent the night on her couch, in clothes he detested, watching her sleep, just so he could be there if she had needed him. She was glad of the murky light so he couldn't see the tears that welled up in her eyes.

"Thanks," she said hoarsely. She took his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed hers back.

"Well, gotta go," he said, standing now and stretching. She guessed he had quite a crick in the neck by the way he kept trying to stretch it out, but he didn't complain. Sam walked him to the door, as he gathered his jacket and overcoat. Through the front windows she could see a faint rosy glow outside as dawn was putting in an appearance.

When Sam opened the door for Jack to leave, he suddenly froze in place and stiffened. Sam followed his gaze and a similar chill passed through her. Standing on the doorstep, his hand obviously reaching for the doorbell, was Pete. He appeared to be frozen too, his hand in mid-air and a look of disbelief on his face.

Sam couldn't help herself.

"Oh God," she muttered, realizing how this must look. There stood Jack, half out of uniform, hair rumpled, a night's beard growth, leaving her house at the crack of dawn. If she had been Pete she would have thought exactly what she knew he was thinking.

"General O'Neill…" Pete managed at last.

Jack replied slowly.

"Pete…"

"Oh boy…" tried Sam, but words failed her.

"Well, this is awkward," said Jack at last.

"Really?," Pete answered sarcastically, finally dropping his hand. Both of them turned and looked at Sam.

"Pete, it's not what you think. I swear," she pleaded with him. Part of her said it didn't really matter what he thought, it was over between them and she was going to move on with her life. But the other part of her wanted to protect Pete, to let him down gently, to not hurt him, or have him think badly of her—which was obviously not what was going on right at the moment.

"What I think," said Pete, stepping back and clearing his throat. "Is that maybe I should just come back later."

Sam tried again.

"Pete, listen to me. We just…I just…my dad's funeral was yesterday and I didn't want to be by myself last night."

"We watched hockey," Jack inserted helpfully.

"Your dad's funeral was yesterday and you didn't tell me?" said Pete accusingly, his eyes growing hard.

"I think I'll leave now," interrupted Jack. "Carter, I'll see you later?"

"Yes, sir," Sam replied, acknowledging that they were back on duty. Jack stepped past Pete and only when he was at the gate that led to the street did he turn and give Sam a glance of encouragement. She appreciated it.

"Pete—come inside, please," she offered the man who still remained on her doorstoop.

"Yeah—you know, I don't think so," Pete replied. "I kinda need to sort some things out…" he rubbed the back of his neck and turned as if to leave before turning back to face her. "I can't believe you didn't tell me about your dad's funeral!"

"I'm sorry, Pete. Really, I am, it's just…would you come inside please, so we can talk?"

Pete's agitation finally erupted. He began to pace back and forth on her porch, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of a bizarre reality.

Sam felt like she had to try one more time.

"Please, Pete. I want to explain."

He stopped and looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted a Jaffa tattoo on her forehead.

"Yeah. You know…I think I'll pass on that right now." He stepped off the top step and made movements to leave.

"Will you at least meet me later?" Sam called after him.

"Later," repeated Pete, as though he couldn't quite comprehend the concept.

"At lunchtime. Noon. At the house."

In the ever-growing light, Pete looked up at her. The pain in his eyes she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life and she floundered for a moment, her courage wavering. But then her resolve set in again. She had another future waiting for her, and it did not have Pete in it. She had already hurt him once today and she knew she would have to hurt him again. But in the end it would be the best thing for him, whether he thought so at the moment or not.

It would be the best thing for both of them.

"Yeah. Okay. I'll be there. Noon. I…uh…I gotta go." And he turned and left, the gate at the road squeaking loudly with his departure.

Sam slumped against the door jamb and sighed deeply. As awful as yesterday had been, she had a feeling in her gut that today was going to be just as bad. Maybe even worse.

Sam didn't see Jack at all that morning after she got to work. Chief Harriman told her that the general had been on the red phone in the his office since the moment he'd set foot on base. Word had come from Bra'tac and Teal'c that Anubis had deceived them and had launched the full strength of his forces at Dakara with the intention of taking control of the Ancient weapon. Brat'ac and the Jaffa ships were returning as swiftly as they could, but he did not hold much hope.

Intellectually, Sam knew that should the Jaffa lose—and there was no reason to think they could stand against the forces of Anubis—then nothing of what was happening in her little life was going to matter a hill of beans. Anubis would use the weapon and all life in the galaxy would be gone in an instant. Emotionally, she felt numb. There had been too much lost in too little time. The threat of galaxial annihilation just wasn't sinking in. Daniel. Jacob. And to some extent, Pete. Those were the losses that were real. The rest, well, she'd deal with it when she had to.

After trying for the fourth time—without success--to run a simulation in her lab, Sam gave up and looked at her watch. It was still an hour and a half until she was to meet Pete. All things considered, she knew she should probably stay on-base, but not being able to concentrate she realized she was of absolutely no use until she had put the whole matter with Pete behind her. At least if they all died today, she would do so with a clear conscience. And frankly, she felt she owed Pete. To not show up—even though it was for a very good reason—would just be wrong.

The day was beautiful. Too beautiful, Sam thought, morosely. The day the world ended should have been more like the day before. Gray and ominous and unlovely. But here, today, the sun was shining and the flowers, that had survived the previous day's wintery blast, seemed to be blooming more brightly than ever. As Sam pulled up to the house Pete had put the down payment on, she could see that there were giant hydrangea bushes planted near the house that were laden with pink and lavender colored blossoms.

Studying the house, Sam sighed. It was a beautiful house, and Pete had been so pleased with himself when he brought her to see it. But she had known in an instant that she could never live here, never have the life that Pete was envisioning for them. That's what had driven her to go to Jack's house later that same day. It had taken every ounce of courage she could muster, but she had been determined to have the conversation with Jack that she had imagined having with him when she'd been alone on the Prometheus. There her subconscious had provided Jack's words. That day she had wanted to know what he would say for himself.

She had never found out. Her life had started to careen out of control from that moment and she knew, in another few minutes, it would take another irrevocable twist. But at least this one was of her own doing, and there was a sense of relief that in not too long a time, at least she could put this particular chapter behind her.

Sam saw Pete's car draw up slowly and park behind her's. She took a deep breath. This was it. The little voice that said she didn't have to do this started whispering again, but she silenced it. Her future—if she had one—lay elsewhere.

Pete didn't look up at her as he walked toward her but kept his head down, studying the grass as he made his way carefully across the lawn.

"Hey," she said quietly, when he had reached her. Only then did he look at her, and Sam noticed that his face did not break into the smile it usually did whenever he would see her. _Hoo boy_, she thought. _This is going to be tough_.

"Hi," he answered her, sitting on the bench. Sam had never seemed him so subdued.

"Thanks for coming," Sam told him. He seemed to study his hands.

"Yeah," Pete finally looked up and met her eyes. "So…what's goin' on, Sam?"

Sam stretched out her hand and opened it. In it lay the little black ring box with Pete's engagement ring inside.

"I'm sorry Pete…I can't do this…I can't marry you."

Pete studied the box for a moment and then took it from Sam's hand.

"Yeah—I kinda had a feeling this was coming."

"Pete—I know what it must have looked like this morning, but I swear to you…"

Pete laughed humorlessly.

"You see, Sam, the thing is—I believe you. And even if I didn't, I'm not sure what would have hurt most—knowing you had been with someone else or the fact that you didn't think enough of me to let me come to your dad's funeral."

Sam flinched. Pete was right. After all this time together, it was wrong of her to do what she had done. But she'd had her reasons.

"I know. And I'm sorry." The apology sounded inadequate, but she couldn't manage any better.

"I would have been there for you, Sam, you know that."

Sam fiddled with her fingers, not wanting to look at Pete's face.

"I do. But it would have made doing this all that much more difficult."

Pete furrowed his forehead and sighed.

"Yeah. I guess." He gestured toward to house behind them. "Was it the house? The dog? The florist? I mean…I thought we had gone this far, I guess I figured you were pretty sure."

Sam studied her hands.

"I tried to tell myself I was. But suddenly, when you bought the house, there was this…this life stretching out in front of me, and it wasn't mine. I just couldn't do it."

"Look, you know, we don't have to buy the house…and hey…phht…forget the dog. They're noisy and they pee all over the rugs," tried Pete, a note of hope in his voice.

Sam shook her head.

"It's more than that, Pete. I haven't been honest with you…because I haven't been honest with myself. I care about you…I really do. But…" Sam took a deep breath and for the first time actually said it out loud. "I also care about someone else."

Pete's face hardened.

"Jack O'Neill," he said dully.

Sam's silence confirmed it.

"Like I didn't see that coming," muttered Pete, more to himself.

"It's…complicated," Sam tried.

"I bet."

The two of them sat in silence for several uncomfortable seconds. Despite the sunshine Sam felt chilled to the bone.

"I knew from the beginning," said Pete finally. "Guess I just thought when you said 'yes' that…" His voice trailed off as they both seemed to focus on their hands. Pete finally looked up at her. "You were worth the risk."

Sam was about to contradict him, but he stopped her.

"Don't say I deserve better," he warned her. "Can't get much better than you."

"That's not true," Sam told him, shaking her head. Could he make this any more difficult?

"I wish I could believe this had something to do with your father…you needed some time to sort things out."

Sam was silent, and she knew Pete could tell that time wasn't going to change anything. Finally, he seemed resigned.

"I guess all I can say is…I hope you get what you want."

Sam waited another moment. For some reason she had expected him to respond more passionately. Yell at her. Plead with her. She didn't know what. But this calm acceptance hadn't been what she'd prepared for.

"That's it?" she said, trying to give him a chance to vent at her. Finally a flicker of anger crossed his face.

"What do you want? You want me to get down on my knees and beg?"

"God, no! Of course not!" That wasn't what she'd meant at all. " I just…I thought you'd react differently."

She could see he was struggling to control his emotions now. Anger…grief…she wasn't sure which. He made as if to speak then seemed to change his mind, as though he didn't trust what would come out of his mouth.

"Bye, Sam," he managed at last, rising and walking away.

"Pete…" Sam pleaded. She hadn't meant for it to end this way, but he ignored her, walking to where the bright "SOLD" adorned the top of the realtor's sign and ripping it off. Sam watched as he got in his car and drove away, out of her life. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There were so many ways that could have gone better. She berated herself for how she'd handled it. Hell, she berated herself for letting it go this far in the first place. When she thought of all Pete had done for her—his transfer to the Colorado Springs department, his putting up with her long periods of absence while she was off-world or on a mission, his careful attempts to cater to her every wish, her every preference—she realized how utterly and totally unfair she had been to him. He was hurt and angry and she knew he had every right to be. Maybe one day—if they all lived that long—the opportunity would arise when she could apologize to him and ask his forgiveness; but for now, she would have to live with the guilt of what she had done to him.

"Carter…you okay?" Jack's voice brought her back from reliving, for the dozenth time her encounter with Pete. She looked up and saw Jack looking at her in a very concerned way. He was out of his BDUs and looked ready to head home. He also looked extremely tired. Sort of how she felt. In the past six hours she had called off her engagement, learned that the Ancient's weapon had fallen into the hands of Anubis, stood on the edge of total annihilation, received word of the defeat of Anubis' forces and witnessed Daniel's return, once again, from the dead. Even for SG-1, days didn't get much more dramatic than that.

"It's been a busy day, sir," she replied simply. Jack smiled in agreement.

"Indeed it has," he turned to go.

"I told Pete," she said to his back. He stopped and slowly turned toward her.

"How'd he take it?"

Sam shrugged.

"Calmly, I guess. But I could tell he was pretty hurt. It's my fault—I shouldn't have let it go on this long. I should've ended it long ago."

Jack pondered this.

"Yeah, well…," she could see he was struggling for something to say. His brow creased. "Don't beat yourself up over it."

Sam smiled wistfully.

"I'll try. You heading home?"

"I was, but I just got a call from the Pentagon. Seems some archeological dig in Giza uncovered something that looks suspiciously like a ZPM. A fully charged ZPM."

Sam felt some of her energy return.

"You're kidding?"

Jack put on a shocked look.

"Would I jest about something like that?" He grinned when he saw Sam smile. "Yeah. I just told Daniel. He's practically giddy. Wants to use it to power the gate to Atlantis and see if we can send some help to Weir. I made the mistake of telling him about that data burst we got while he was…semi-ascended, and he's already started pouring over the portions of the Atlantean data base that came through."

Sam nodded, her mind filling with all sorts of possibilities a fully charged ZPM presented.

"That's fantastic."

"Could be. If it's as billed. Strange thing, though. They said they found a video camera perfectly preserved in a sealed 3000 year old canopic jar. They're sending both the video camera and the ZPM over tomorrow. If the ZPM checks out, we'll need a plan in place to rescue the Atlantis folks. I've got a few more hours' work to do before I get to get out of here."

"If you need any help…" Sam offered, but Jack cut her off.

"Look, Carter—don't take this the wrong way, but you look like hell. Go on. Get out of here. Go home. Rest. That's an order."

Sam grinned tiredly.

"Yes, sir."

Jack turned to leave, but snapped his fingers and turned back.

"I almost forgot. I'm standing SG-1 down for a week. With what the three of you have been through these past weeks, I think a little R&R is in order. I myself am taking a few days off."

"Going fishing, sir?" Sam asked casually. Jack tilted his head.

"As a matter of fact, I am. Wouldn't care to join me, would you?"

Sam took a deep breath.

"Actually—I would."

Jack arched an eyebrow at her.

"Really?"

His surprise was evident. Sam tried to sound cavalier.

"Yeah. Could be…fun."

"I was going to invite Daniel and Teal'c too….." Jack added.

Sam nodded.

"Sounds great."

Jack studied her a moment, as if mulling over something more profound than a weekend fishing trip.

"Yes. It does." He recovered himself and rubbed his hands together, grinning. "Excellent! We'll leave day after tomorrow. Pack warmly. Minnesota evenings are chilly!"

Sam watched his retreating back and smiled. Fishing. With Daniel and Teal'c.

And Jack.

Suddenly she didn't feel quite so tired or quite so awful about Pete.

Fishing.

It was a start.

(Acknowledgement: Some dialogue in the break-up scene was taken from the _Stargate SG-_1 episode _Threads_, written by Robert Cooper. No copyright infringement intended.)


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

**MOEBIUS CODA **

Sam shivered slightly as a cool June breeze came up from the pond and danced around the deck on which she stood. She took a deep breath and inhaled the clear, evening air. There was a slight dampness in it from the nearby water which extended farther than her eyes could make out now that the darkness had completely blackened the woods behind the pond. She closed her eyes and let her breath out slowly. The gentle lapping of the water along the shore was soothing. It had been a great day, overall. She was sorry to see it end.

A creak on the decking behind her alerted her to his presence. She opened her eyes quickly—force of habit. She was so used to being on alert, to not being caught off-guard, it was reflex.

"Where are Daniel and Teal'c?" she asked as Jack neared her. In his hand he carried something—it turned out to be a sweater. He draped it over her shoulder and she was grateful for its warmth. "Thanks," she added, adjusting it ever so slightly. The smell of cedar drifted off it, punctuating the night air.

"You know, you'd think a big guy like Teal'c could deal with a couple of little mosquitoes," Jack jerked his thumb back toward the cabin. "But he says that the idea of insects sucking blood from his body is just too creepy, so he's up there 'kelnoreeming'."

Sam glanced at the log cabin structure and Jack seemed to read her thoughts.

"Don't worry—I told him one," he held up a finger to emphasize the point. "Just one candle. That's it. And I specifically _ordered_ Daniel to leave all that Atlantis crap at home—which means he's in _his_ room nose-deep in some notebook, plotting six ways of talking me into letting him leave for the Pegasus Galaxy on the Daedelus next week."

Which wasn't going to happen, Sam thought to herself, reflecting on Daniel's many rants in her office over not being allowed to go on the Atlantis expedition. While she had sympathized, she was glad Jack had stood his ground and kept Daniel home. It was bad enough to think that Teal'c might soon leave to join the Jaffa High Council. Now that her dad was gone, she realized how much her teammates were her family. And how dangerously close that family was to scattering to the far corners of the universe

She dismissed the melancholy thought and looked back out over the pond.

"I had no idea it was so beautiful here," she said, leaning on the deck rail with her elbows.

"Yeah…well," came Jack's reply. "At least it's quiet. And peaceful,"

She got his meaning all too well.

"Not like the rest of our lives," she agreed, with a slight, humorless laugh. Then she sighed. "No wonder you always want to come here."

In typical Jack fashion, his response was quick:

"Oh yeah. Every once in a while I like to remind myself why it is we keep on trying to save this planet."

"I guess we do get a little too caught up in everything to enjoy the fruits of our labor," admitted Sam. "Occupational hazard."

"Like I said, let's not dwell."

A moment of reflective silence hung between them. Jack seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Sam risked a glance at him and saw his gaze was directed out toward the dark water. His posture was relaxed and for the first time in a long, long time, he seemed not to have the weight of the world—of the galaxy—on his shoulders. He reminded her of the Jack she had met eight years ago, sharing food and "moonshine" with Skaara on her first trip to Abydos. Before the losses. Before the sacrifices. Before the wounds, physical and otherwise. If it weren't for the glints of gray that she could see reflecting the pale light from cabin window—but then again, she couldn't see his eyes. And in spite of his outwardly relaxed stance, she knew that if she could see his eyes they would remain as ever, reserved and wary, careful not to betray whatever it was that lay beneath.

And that was what kept Sam silent, in spite of the fact that she had rehearsed over and over just what she would say, should a moment such as this present itself this weekend. Uncertainty overwhelmed her. What if she had misinterpreted the events of the past weeks? What if she had imagined what she had thought passed between them at her father's bedside? Except for his gesture of staying with her the night of her father's funeral, nothing else had happened since then that eight years of camaraderie wouldn't have accounted for. And always there was the wariness in his eyes, revealing nothing.

So she simply watched the lake too, cursing herself for letting the moment pass, yet too filled with doubt to stop it.

When Jack cleared his throat, Sam jumped, she had been so lost in her own thoughts.

"So…can I ask you a personal question?" he said, his voice quiet and serious. Uncertain what to expect, Sam nodded.

"Anything, sir."

The response was automatic, just like the alertness reflex. She regretted the "sir" the moment it left her lips. She really did have to work on separating Colonel Carter from Samantha Carter. Now would have been a good time.

"Sam..." he said warningly.

"Sorry—Jack. It's…habit." she apologized, shaking her head,

"Yeah, well. Break it, will ya?"

Sam managed a faint smile, an odd nervousness rising in her stomach. Maybe she wasn't going to have to be the one to broach the subject after all.

When she didn't say anything, Jack glanced at her and then back out at the lake.

"Anyway…I was just wondering…why did you call it off with Pete?"

Sam felt her stomach hit the ground as those awful moments at the house flashed through her memory. She still ached with guilt over having allowed her relationship with Pete to go as far as it had. It was not one of the stellar moments of her life.

"Oh…" was all she could think of to say. It took her brain a moment to catch up as she tried to figure out not so much what to say, but why Jack was asking her this in the first place. Was he simply curious or was he groping his way down the same uncertain path she was on, trying to figure out this…whatever it was…between them without actually admitting that it was there?

Part of her desperately wanted to tell Jack exactly why things had gone wrong with Pete. It was the same part of her that had shown up at Jack's place the day Pete had bought the house in the suburbs and started to sow happy little visions of the two of them in a normal sort of life. It was the same part of her that had burned with embarrassment and an unbefore-felt jealousy when she had found Kerry Johnson not only at Jack's house, but obviously comfortable enough there to be rummaging in his cupboards and inviting Sam to join them for dinner.

But another part of her, the part that was Jacob Carter-pride—the part of her that still had doubts left about where she stood with the man standing next to her in the dark—couldn't bring herself to lay it all out in front of him. The certainty she had felt a few days ago—the unspoken exchange that had been the final nail in the coffin of her relationship with Pete—vanished like the mist on the lake. Indecision left her silent.

"I mean…if you don't want to tell me, that's okay…" Jack offered, backing-off a little.

Sam struggled to say something.

"No…it's not that, it's just…I don't know. It wasn't just one thing."

That at least was true. Her breakup with Pete had been the coalescence of a great many factors in her life at that precise time. What had passed between her and Jack had been the tipping point. But she wasn't ready to tell him that just yet.

"Ah," he replied and said no more.

She wondered if he would just leave it there and not press her farther. A part of her hoped he would.

Somewhere on the far side of the pond a creature splashed in the water.

Sam glanced at Jack and saw that once again he seemed lost in his thoughts, apparently willing to accept her rather vague response.

A voice inside prodded her. What was she holding back for, especially now? Wasn't this why she'd accepted the invitation to come fishing in the first place? So that maybe she and Jack could finally say some things that needed to be said? Damn it! He'd even opened the door for her, and she had slammed it right back in his face. She was an idiot! If they couldn't talk about this now, with everything that had just happened, then they would never be able to. It was now or never.

Sam took a deep breath.

"Can I ask _you_ a question?" she said finally.

There was a certain practiced casualness in Jack's voice as he answered: "Sure, why not?"

She turned and faced him. Even in the darkness she could see his face clearly. His eyes met hers, expectantly. Sam wondered again if she could do this. Taking another deep breath, she asked:

"Why did you call it off with Agent Johnson?"

Jack looked only mildly discomfited.

"Ah. Well. I didn't, actually. I mean…I was going to. It's just that she kinda beat me to the punch."

"Oh." Sam turned back to the water. Her thoughts spun. What the hell did that mean? Kerry had broken it off, but Jack had wanted to? How in the world could she interpret that?

Jack, however, seemed willing to help.

"Mmm. She seemed to think I had 'issues'." He made quotation marks in the air with his fingers.

Sam chuckled to herself.

"Yeah, who doesn't?" she muttered.

"So true," came Jack's answer, in his usual, self-deprecating way. "Nevertheless, it seemed that mine were insurmountable. She did offer a suggestion, however."

Sam couldn't help herself.

"Really? A CIA agent and a psychologist?" She hung her head, instantly regretting her words. The green beast that had risen within her that day at Jack's house had reawakened. "Sorry…"she apologized. "That came out kind of…"

"Catty?" offered Jack. She could hear the grin in his voice even if she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"Well…" conceded Sam, half-smiling herself. He had her, and he knew it. She'd let him know that it had mattered to her, and he seemed inordinately pleased with that bit of knowledge.

"So—" he pressed her, seeming to sense that now she might be more willing to talk,. "I'm just curious—did your breaking things off with Pete have anything to do with what you wanted to talk to me about that day you stopped by my house?"

There was no point avoiding it now. They'd started down this path. Might as well see where it led them.

Sam sighed and leaned back over the deck rail to gaze at the pond. Somehow this might be easier if she didn't look directly at him.

"You could say that."

It wasn't much of an answer, but let him read into it what he would.

Jack was leaning on the railing, looking at the water too. She could feel him glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She kept her gaze straight ahead on the blackness at the far side of the pond.

"I don't suppose there's any chance of you and Pete…you know…."

Jack's voice was hesitant.

"Getting back together?" Sam nearly shuddered at the thought. The image of Pete's hurt face as he walked away from her and ripped the "sold" off the for-sale sign in the front yard loomed in before her. He wouldn't. She couldn't. Not with Pete. Never.

"No. I'm afraid I hurt him rather badly," she confessed. "Anyway—I know now that I made the right choice. My dad was right."

"Jacob?" Jack sounded surprised.

Sam finally turned and faced him. This at least was safe ground.

"Yeah," she continued. "He had it figured out from the very beginning. He knew Pete was all wrong. He even tried to tell me when he was dying, but I wouldn't let him." Sam plucked at the sleeve of the sweater, distractedly. " I told him I was happy—I guess I just didn't want him worrying about me."

There was a sense of relief in telling Jack this. She hadn't told anyone about the exchange between herself and her father and it had weighed heavily on her mind. She knew she wasn't the only daughter to ever lie to her father so that he might die with some peace. Still, confessing it to Jack lifted the burden of it a little.

"Good…I mean, it's a good thing you found out before you went—you know--through with it," Jack stammered in the way he did when he found he'd make a blunder and was trying to rectify it.

"Yeah. It is," Sam agreed. It was easier to talk about the break-up itself than the reason why. "It was hard to do. I mean, Pete's a really great guy. But…I don't know. When it was over, this tremendous weight just lifted from my shoulders, even with everything else that was going on."

"So… that afternoon when you stopped by…you wanted to tell me…what?" Jack persisted. He wasn't going to let that go, was he? Sam's heart was racing. Fine. If he was ready to do this, then so was she.

Sam turned and faced him full on.

"Look, Jack.," she began, trying to find the words she had rehearsed . "We both know…"

"I'm retiring, Sam."

He couldn't have stunned her more if he had blasted her with a Zat. A chill went through her that had absolutely nothing to do with the Minnesota night air.

"You're _what_?" she asked, incredulous, hoping she'd misunderstood him. Jack retiring meant only one thing: he'd be gone. As disconcerting as it had been to lose him from SG-1, at least she had seen him every day, still worked along side of him, even if they no longer traveled through the gate together. But if he retired….

What? What, Sam? she asked herself. What had you been hoping for? That somehow your dad's offer of hope would come true?

_Don't let rules stand in your way._

_You can still have everything you want._

Because that was the real reason she had broken it off with Pete. Because somehow, in some secret part of herself she had thought that maybe, just maybe there would be a way to be with Jack, in spite of everything that did stand in their way. Because when he had told her he had broken it off with Kerry…she was sure it hadn't just been a coincidence. In time, she had told herself. In time they would figure it out.

Well, that time had just run out.

"I'm retiring," he repeated, airily. "Turned my papers in yesterday. I'll stay on until the end of June. Give the Pentagon time to find a replacement. But July 1st, I'm gone." He made a launching motion with his hand, zooming out toward the darkness.

Sam's heart was pounding. Breathing was…difficult.

"But….", she stammered.

Jack seemed not to notice.

"Actually, it was Kerry's suggestion," he continued. "She thought it might go a long way in helping me resolve some of those issues."

The fingers made quotes in the air again.

Kerry. So he was doing it for her. Sam felt numb all over. How had she ever thought…and here all the time it had been Kerry. She'd been so stupid.

Shaking her head, she tried to clear it. To sound at least coherent.

"I…I don't know what to say. I can't imagine the SGC…"

Jack stretched his arms out and cracked his knuckles. The ultimate in relaxed while she stood there, her world collapsing around her.

"Oh, I'm sure they'll heave a collective sigh of relief. It'll take at least three months to sort through my backlog of paperwork."

Sam barely heard him. She was still trying to recover enough to not let him know.

"But Jack—the SGC…I mean…you're the.. without you…it's…" her voice trailed off, not knowing where to go

"Hey—it's been my life for the past eight years," he admitted. "Hell. If it weren't for the stargate I probably wouldn't even have a life. But you know, I figure I've given my part for God and country. Now I want to spend the rest of my life doing what I want. With whomever I want."

Jack seemed to wait. It took her a moment to process what he had said. _With whomever I want_. What did that have to do with Kerry? There wasn't anything keeping the two of them apart. Sure, they'd been trying to keep it quiet but….

It hit her. He didn't mean Kerry at all

Sam understood. And with the absolute joy of that understanding, a horrible realization came over her.

She couldn't let him do it.

He was too valuable to the SGC, too important in keeping the whole program from the hundred and one forces that would bend it to their political wills. Her own resignation from the Air Force she had considered. Jack leaving—it simply was not an option. Even though it shattered everything she had barely allowed herself to hope for, she wouldn't let him to do it. Not for her.

Sam struggled to find a voice, and to keep it steady.

"Jack—you can't. I won't let you give up the SGC for me. You're too important."

He hardly let her get the words out, shaking his head to argue before she even finished.

"I'm tired, Sam," he told her, his voice as earnest as she'd ever heard it. "Leading SG-1 was one thing. It was exciting. It was dangerous. Hell, it was even fun—well, not all of it," he admitted. "I could have done without the snakes in the head. But damn it, Sam, I'm not a desk jockey. Hell, I only took the job in the first place 'cuz I was afraid of what asshole the president would appoint to take Weir's place. Now, instead of doing really cool stuff with you and Daniel and Teal'c, I get to shuffle a bunch of damn papers and wear a hole in the floor of my office until I hear Walter tell me you're coming back through the gate. Oh…and I hate…I really _hate_ listening to Erikkson prattle on about his stupid rocks after every single mission!" He winced, as though just thinking about the young geologist inflicted pain. "The thing is, the joy's gone all out of it, Sam. And now it's just standing in the way the only thing I really want. You."

His eyes locked with hers, and Sam saw the man's soul laid bare before her.

_You._

Her ears were pounding so loudly they drowned out the sound of the night creatures. She thought her heart would leap out of her throat. Jack was waiting for her response….

Wasn't this what she wanted? Wasn't this the hope she'd held on to? After all, Anubis was gone. The System Lords were decimated. The Replicators were destroyed. The Jaffa were free. Jack O'Neill had done his part. And who was she to say that he wasn't ready to hang up his wings.

Except that she knew Jack too well. Maybe even better than he knew himself. And he wasn't ready for this. Not yet.

She wouldn't let him do it. For his sake, she couldn't.

"Jack…" she began, her heart breaking as she tried to find the words. He refused to let them come.

"Tell me you don't feel the same way," he challenged her quietly.

Sam looked up into his eyes and saw that the barrier was gone. He wasn't hiding anything anymore—everything he felt was laid out as plainly as he could manage.

"God! I do…!" she admitted, fervently. "I have…! It's just that …"

"It's just that what?" He moved closer to her, his voice quiet and low. She shook her head; she was quickly running out of reasons. His physical nearness made it all the more difficult to think straight. She hugged herself, trying to stop the shivering that was beginning to overtake her.

"The SGC needs you…" she said, half-heartedly now.

"They'll find someone else. Nature and the military abhor a vacuum, you know."

She smiled. He was close. Dangerously close.

"You'll hate retirement," she tried one more time, quite unconvincingly.

Jack took her by her arms and drew her closer to him. It was useless to resist. His voice was so quiet it was barely above a whisper.

"I'll keep busy. My to-do list is about a hundred miles long."

He pulled her even closer. She let him.

"I know, but…"

She couldn't help it. Her arms slid around his neck. She felt the sweater slip to the ground behind her feet, but she no longer needed it. The evening was warming up quickly. Jack brought her closer still. She could smell the woodsmoke from the grill lingering about him. A million things she wanted to say, to ask, to clarify popped into her head .

"Sam…" Jack whispered, closer than ever. "Sometimes a person can talk a subject to death."

Damn! Would she ever stop shivering? She wasn't actually…nervous? After all this time?

"I can't help it," she stammered, "I just…"

His lips were so close to hers that she could feel their warmth.

"Sam…" he repeated, his lips brushing hers. "Shut up.."

She did as he asked.

Any doubts she had left vanished in the next instant. Not when Jack was holding her, kissing her, showing her, in no uncertain terms, just what she meant to him. Eight years of hidden feelings erupted. This was not the time to hold back. Not anymore. Maybe Jacob was right: she could have everything she wanted. And what she wanted most, was Jack.

It was time to let him know.

"Oh God," she gasped breathlessly, when at last they acknowledged their need for air. She leaned her forehead against his, her chest heaving.

"What's wrong?" he asked in alarm, his breath coming in short bursts as well.

Joy flooded her. Any doubts she'd had were long gone. She looked up at Jack and grinned.

"Nothing…I just can't believe… I mean, I never thought we'd…."

"Sam…" Jack interrupted, as he usually did when he sensed she was about to go on and on with something he didn't want or need to hear.

"Jack?"

He kissed her again, slowly, deeply. Passionately.

"Save your breath."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

**CHANGE OF PLAN**

"Sonofabitch!"

"Sir?" Sam had been walking by Jack's office and stopped short at the sound of the expletive emerging from within. She stuck her head around the corner. "Is everything all right?"

"No—" Jack slammed his fist down on the desk and immediately seemed to regret it. He mouthed "ow!" and waggled the injured hand, trying to shake off the pain.

"What's wrong?" Sam thought it seemed safe to enter now. Once Jack had real pain to concentrate on, he was easier to talk to. However, instead of talking he thrust a piece of paper in front of her and continued to work the hand he'd so thoroughly pounded.

"This is why I never read my memos," he growled, a look of utter frustration settling on his brow.

Sam took the outstretched paper and ran her eyes over the page. Reading the content twice to make sure she understood, she looked up wordlessly at Jack, still unclear as to the reason for his wrath.

"General Hammond is retiring," she offered, hopefully.

"Yes!" exclaimed Jack, holding up both hands, relieved that now she understood. Except she didn't. Sam was still puzzled.

"So are you," she added, reminding him. It had only been ten days since they'd returned from his cabin. Ten days since he'd told her he was retiring. Ten days since they'd put their ranks aside and taken their relationship to a whole new level. It had been a risk; Jack wasn't due to retire for another month, but after all those years of denying their feelings, it had seemed worth it. It was worth it, thought Sam, with a half smile.

"No. I'm not."

His words hit her like a slap in the face. She felt a strange chill pass over her, a sort of premonition.

"What do you mean…you're not?" she asked, her voice quiet, so as not to let him know the dread she was beginning to feel.

"I mean, I can't." The anger in his voice was real. "At least, not now. The President wants me to take over as head of Homeworld Security. Take Hammond's place. Run the whole she-bang."

Sam did all she could to keep from reaching for the desk for support.

"You're kidding," she managed, instead. Jack glared at her.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" He stood up, the desk chair nearly tipping over, and began to pace. "Jeez! I hate this. I just hate it!"

She knew she didn't need to state the obvious, but she did anyway.

"You don't have to accept it. You can still retire."

Jack stopped pacing and ran his fingers through his hair before locking eyes with her.

"And let them appoint some _shrub_ to run the whole thing? Area 51? The 304 program? The SGC? Do you know how badly someone could screw all this up? It's bad enough we've got the IOC looking over our shoulder every other minute Too many people have worked too damned hard and sacrificed too damned much to let some idiot political appointee trash it all in one fell swoop."

Sam found herself studying the floor. It suddenly held an amazing interest for her. Anything to keep from looking up and seeing the look on Jack's face. Or letting him see the look she was sure was on her own.

"Then you have to accept." She was amazed at how absolutely calm and rational she was sounding when all she wanted to do was rant and rave just like Jack.

Jack's reply was suddenly subdued.

"Yes, damn it. I do."

Pressing her lips together and forcing a smile, Sam somehow got out: "Congratulations, sir."

She turned to go. She had to leave. Now.

"Sam—wait. Shut the door."

Thwarted, Sam couldn't bring herself to look at him, but complied by carefully closing the door, her hand on the jamb until she heard the lock clasp. Even then she still couldn't turn around. Jack had come up behind her. His physical nearness set every sense tingling. She hoped he wouldn't touch her; she wasn't sure she could maintain her composure if he did.

He waited her out, though, until finally she had no choice but to turn and face him. The anger that had been on his face was gone and she saw not General O'Neill but Jack, his feelings for her written all over his face, as plain as anything. Sam swallowed hard to force down the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm her. So this was it. Ended before it had barely begun, just as she had feared.

He must have read the look on her face.

"This doesn't change anything between us," he assured her. Sam looked up at him, her eyes moist, in spite of herself.

"How can you say that?" she asked, her voice pained.

"Look, I know DC is a little less convenient than Colorado Springs, but…"

She cut him off.

"It's not the distance! There are rules, Jack. What do you think kept us apart this long?"

"I don't care." His eyes were dark, his voice low and earnest.

"They'll throw you out, Jack. They'll throw us both out. And then some idiot _will_ be put in charge of all of this and we'll be…"

"What? Unemployed? Been there. Not a whole lot different from retirement, as far as I can tell."

Sam shook her head vehemently.

"You'd hate it, Jack. You know you would And so would I. Do you honestly think you could be content to just walk away from this, knowing all the things we know and not being able to do any of it any more?"

He studied her for a moment.

"I thought that's what I was doing."

Sam closed her eyes and sighed.

"I know. But it never felt right. Not for you."

When she looked at Jack again, his eyes were troubled.

"I'm s'posed to have different priorities now, remember?" he told her. "That whole, 'I'm tired of this mess' thing?"

She smiled wanly.

"Yeah. I never did buy that, you know."

Jack screwed up his face and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Really? I thought I sold that pretty well."

Sam shook her head.

"Sorry. Must have been the moonlight reflecting off the pond."

He didn't answer

"Look, Jack…" she began, but he cut her off, an edge of anger or frustration, or maybe both, creeping into his voice.

"I'm not giving you up, Sam. Not for the Air Force. Not for the Pentagon. Not for the fate of the whole damn planet."

The thrill of his words were dampened by what Sam knew was the cold reality of it all. Jack knew it too, he just didn't want to admit it.

"I don't want to lose you either, Jack…" she told him, almost reaching out to touch him, but stopping herself in time. Too many windows into a general's office. "But there's more here than you and me. It was a nice little fantasy to think that we could just ride off into the sunset together, but the reality is, neither of us can. And I think you know that."

He looked at her and cocked an eyebrow.

"Too cliché, eh?"

Sam had to nod.

"I'm afraid so, sir."

Jack's eyes clouded.

"Don't…" he voice was husky with raw emotion. He held up a finger. "Don't do that, Sam. Not when we're alone. And just because we can't go riding off into the sunset together doesn't mean we have to end this. I can't and I won't."

"Jack—" What was going to make him understand? "It's not exactly like we have a choice."

"We always have a choice, Sam. Picking the best one is the hard part."

There was only one other option that Sam could only think of—the one she had toyed with before; the one she knew Jack would hate just as much.

"Then _I'll_ leave the SGC," she offered quietly.

"The hell you will!" Jack's eyes flashed. His tone was sharp.

"No—listen," she forged ahead. Now that she thought of it, it seemed like the right solution. "It makes sense, Jack. Look—I really need to spend more time with Cassie—since Janet's death" the word still stuck in Sam's throat, "well, you know, she's been having a lot of trouble. I'm worried about her but I just haven't been able to give her as much time as I know I should. Teal'c's already leaving to be on the High Council. And Daniel…."

Jack sighed.

"I know…Atlantis. If he pesters me about it once he pesters me about it a dozen times every day." Jack was thoughtful for a moment, a look of resignation settling on his brow. "Seems like the ol' gang's breaking up, huh?"

Sam shrugged, trying not to show how relieved she felt. She had never thought Jack would go for this idea. For once, she was happy to be proven wrong.

"I guess we ultimately knew it wouldn't last forever."

Jack's smile was rueful.

"No—I guess not. So—what about you?"

She hadn't gotten around to that part of the plan yet. What would she like to do? Research? There were so many ideas she'd had over the past eight years that she'd had to put on the back burner simply because there were not enough hours in the day. She'd been Soldier Sam for a long time. Maybe it was time to dust off Dr. Carter.

"I don't know. Research, I guess. Maybe I could find something to do at Area 51. So much of the stuff we've collected from other planets has ended up there—I feel like I've barely scratched the surface in understanding most of it."

"You sure about this?" he asked, scrutinizing her carefully, as if trying to see if she was being completely honest with him. Already a little thrill of excitement was building up in the back of her head just thinking of the possibilities being at Area 51 presented. This would be a good thing, all the way around.

"Yeah. I am. Really," Sam assured him.

But—you know, Area 51 still reports to Homeworld Security. So, technically…." Jack started.

"_Technically_, yes," Sam interrupted. "But not directly. And there are a whole lot of command layers in between. So, I guess, if we're…discreet…"

Jack raised an eyebrow rakishly.

"Discreet. I like that."

Sam had to smile.

"We could still get in a lot of trouble," she warned, her tone not as serious as she knew it probably should be. Jack was grinning now.

"Danger too. I could get into this."

Sam felt her eyes swimming, uncharacteristically. She hoped Jack wouldn't notice, but he did.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head and tried blinking them away.

"Nothing—it's just…I mean, I love where this is going, between us. And I know all this would be happening whether you and I had ever—you know—or not. But I still hate to see everything change like this." She smiled sadly. "It won't ever be the same again, will it? You and Daniel and Teal'c. General Hammond. Janet…."

For once Jack didn't have a quick quip with which to reply. He stood rather awkwardly for a few moments and then said what she had found comfort in too rarely in the past eight years:

"Come here."

Sam decided she didn't care about the windows into the briefing room. She moved into Jack's arms and let him wrap her securely in his embrace. For nearly nine years those arms had been there for her. To pull her to safety. To watch her six. To carry her when she'd been wounded. To support her when she'd been down. To comfort her when her heart or her body had been wracked with pain. No matter what more they had become in recent weeks, they were first and foremost the arms of a friend. And it was to those arms that she surrendered herself, knowing that, whatever else changed, they would not.

And knowing that, Sam was ready to move on.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

**PREMONITIONS**

Sam awoke with a start and grasped at the blanket to stop her sensation of falling. She couldn't remember the dream, exactly, but she recalled the loss of balance. It was silly, of course. Just a dream. But her heart was pounding as though she had indeed just stepped back from the edge of a great precipice, hanging on for her very life.

Beside her, in the dark, Jack's steady breathing was undisturbed by her nightmare. If there had been any movement, aside from her sudden jerking awake, it hadn't been enough to rouse Jack from his deep sleep. Sam made herself relax, listening for any indication that he might have awakened anyway. Some shapeless residual fear still hovered around her and she would have welcomed the comfort of his arms, the warmth of his body, his soothing, if half-asleep, assurance that it had been, after all, just a dream.

But Jack slept on and Sam was determined not to wake him. He was returning to Atlantis in the morning while she had one more day of preparation before she went off-world with SG-1 in search of the San Graal. Between Daniel's theory and Vala's dream, they had come up with one lone gate address. If they had no luck there, Sam wasn't sure what they'd do next. They were quickly running out of options. With the Ori having destroyed the ancient weapon on Dakara, and with Chulak and countless other planets gone or falling daily to Ori control, the future of the galaxy quite possibly depended on locating Merlin's weapon.

Sure. No pressure.

In some ways Sam envied Jack his trip to Atlantis. Having finally made it there herself a few months ago she had found a beauty and serenity to the place that was soothing. Not that she was likely to get a chance to return any time soon. Rescuing the ship full of Ancients had turned out to be a mixed blessing. Jack had confessed to her that turning Atlantis back over to the Ancients had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do. Their lack of gratitude had "irked" him as had their off-handed dismissal of all that Weir and her team had done in saving both Atlantis and the Atlanteans. Why they refused to allow the Atlantis team to remain—even just a few people—had made him suspicious of their motives. And he had felt bad for Elizabeth Weir and her people who had sacrificed so much and gotten nothing so much as a "here's your hat what's your hurry" in response.

Jack had owned up that sending Woolsey was a little bit of payback—not just to the Ancients, whom he found were nearly as obnoxious unascended as they were ascended—but to Woolsey too, "for being such a giant pain in the ass all these years", he had told Sam, that mischievous light dancing in his eyes. Sam still harbored a certain amount of ill-will toward Woolsey, given how he'd come down so hard on them all after Janet's death, and she tacitly approved of Jack's means of retribution. Woolsey and the Ancients deserved each other.

The person who Sam did feel a certain empathy for was Elizabeth Weir. Word was, she was not adjusting to life Earthside as well as the other members of her team. John Sheppard was commanding an SG team; Dr. Beckett was evident down in the infirmary. Even that royal pain in the…even Rodney McKay had settled in at Area 51—making Sam triply glad she was no longer in charge of the place. But Dr. Weir, by all accounts, hadn't done quite so well. Daniel had mentioned that she hadn't accepted any of the positions offered her and seemed to be avoiding her former team members and friends.

Sam thought she knew how she felt. When she herself had left the SCG to take over Area 51 the adjustment had been a lot tougher than she had expected. She missed Daniel. She missed Teal'c. She missed the rhythm and the heartbeat of the SGC. And despite the fact that she and Jack had finally placed themselves in positions which no longer prevented their relationship from developing, she missed the day to day interaction with him, the camaraderie of their working relationship and simply just knowing he was around. And she had made that choice too, not like Elizabeth, who had had all her hard work and sacrifice yanked out from under her feet in one fell swoop.

Still, one had to be careful what one wished for, thought Sam. It wasn't that she regretted having returned to the SGC when Cam asked—okay, _pleaded_—with her. Certainly the situation had called for her expertise. And there was no doubt that the Ori were proving to be as great a threat as the Go'auld—perhaps even more. But she was wondering just how much more of this she could take. The close call when they'd lost the Prometheus—the beatings at the hands of the Lucien Alliance—the hours floating EVA near the supergate—each near miss made her reassess her desire to stay at the SGC. How many times could she step back from the precipice before she lost her footing?

She wasn't afraid of death. She'd faced it too many times and in too many ways. But it had always been just her before. No collateral damage. Now there was Jack…and Cassie. Anything that happened to her would have a ripple effect on them as well. They had both lost so much already, she couldn't bear to think that she might be the cause of more pain in either of their lives. And she wasn't ready to miss out on what her own future might hold either.

Jack mumbled and turned over in his sleep, bringing Sam back to the present. The dread of her nightmare returned and she could not shake it. Pulling the covers up more tightly around her, she edged her way closer to Jack trying to find at least some comfort in his nearness. She couldn't figure out why this dream had bothered her, especially when she couldn't even remember what it was about. Maybe it wasn't just the dream, but an overall pervading sense of dread.

Now that she thought about it, she had been feeling rather off-center ever since Jack had arrived back in Colorado Springs a few days ago and announced that he was returning to Atlantis. Sam wasn't usually one to let her gut feeling overrule her sense of reason. Science and logic were her guiding stars, the basis from which she made most of her decisions. Rarely did she ever allowed her logical side to be overruled by her emotional side, but on those occasions when she had, she'd usually been right. She'd trusted her instincts about Cassie. She'd trusted her instincts about refusing to give up on Jack the half dozen or so times he'd been listed as MIA. And she'd trusted her instincts when she'd talked her father into becoming a Tok'ra. Now, her instincts were telling her, without any rational basis for it whatsoever, that it would really be better if she and Jack stayed in bed that morning and let the rest of the galaxy go on without them.

Except she couldn't do that.

And neither could he.

Suddenly the darkness of the night became like a weight upon her and Sam struggled to battle back tears that would come in spite of herself. She didn't know how or why. She just had a very, very bad feeling about what lay ahead.

Abandoning her resolution not to wake him, Sam pulled at Jack's shoulder and, suddenly awake, he rolled over toward her, questioning.

She couldn't explain it to him. She couldn't explain it to herself. What could she tell him that would make him understand?

"Hold me," she finally whispered, knowing that, in the end, it was the only thing that would bring her any comfort. In the gray darkness she could see him smile sleepily as he reached out and gathered her into his arms. She grasped those arms, as if they might somehow dissolve into nothingness should her hold on them be not strong enough. But long after Jack's regular breathing told her that he was once again sound asleep, Sam still lay awake, wondering.

"I've got a briefing with Hank at 0900 and then I'm off," Jack explained, wiping his face and putting his toothbrush back in the cup. Sam nodded, trying not to meet her own eyes in the mirror. She hadn't liked the fear she'd seen in them earlier. She hoped Jack hadn't noticed.

"We don't leave until tomorrow," she replied. "Landry wants to make sure we've analyzed all the MALP and UAV data before we head out. We don't want to find any nasty Ori surprises waiting for us."

"Yeah. You know, these Ancients and Ascended Beings are getting to be a royal pain in the ass. It makes my head hurt trying to keep up with their damn rules."

Sam offered him a weak smile in response. Jack missed it.

"The Go'auld—now, they were predictable. Giant egos. Cecile B. DeMille wardrobes. Enough eye make-up to make Tammy-Faye proud. You could count on them every time." When she didn't respond Sam caught him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

"You okay?" Jack asked, suspiciously.

She tried to sound nonchalant.

"Me? Yeah. Why?"

Jack shrugged.

"Nothing. You just seem a little, I don't know. Un-Sam like."

"I could rattle off some Quantum Theory for you, if you like," she shot back, hoping a little banter would keep him from looking at her too closely. The sensation of dread was increasing with each passing moment. She was nearly nauseous because of it.

"No—thanks. I already have a headache at the prospect of spending several days in the company of Woolsey, not to mention their high and mightinesses, the Ancients."

Sam saw him glance at her again, anticipating her indulgent smile. She couldn't manage it. She had a lump in her throat and her eyes were stinging so badly that it was a struggle to keep her face from betraying everything she was very suddenly feeling. Now she knew what it was that had so nearly overwhelmed her last night and was on the verge of overtaking her this morning. It had nothing to do with her own fate and everything to do with Jack's: it was a horrible and all pervasive sense that she was never going to see him again.

"Hey…." His tone had changed. "What's wrong?"

Damn. She'd let him see. Not trusting her voice, she shook her head.

"Sam?"

His voice was filled with concern now, which only made it worse.

"What's up?"

He was next to her, his hand on her elbow, turning her to face him instead of the bathroom sink.

She couldn't help it. She threw her arms around his neck and held on to him as if he were about to turn into a wisp and ascend before her very eyes.

"Hey," he started, but didn't finish. Instead he gathered her to him and held her, waiting.

Finally, though it killed her to do it, she pulled away.

"It's silly, really," she managed, trying to laugh, only to have it come out more like a sob.

"Yeah. I can see that," he replied quietly. Sam gestured futilely.

"I just can't seem to shake the feeling that you going to Atlantis is a really, really bad idea. Ridiculous, huh?" She tried a little laugh again. This one came out better. Except that Jack didn't smile.

"Ridiculous," he repeated, but his voice tone told her that he thought it was anything but. "Sam…"

"I know…" she interrupted. "I _know_. I go through the Stargate every day where there's a heck of a lot more dangerous things going on than a bunch of ten-thousand year old people reclaiming their lost city. And we both know that one of these days the odds are probably going to catch up with one of us…"

"Sam…"

"And we both knew the risks when we got ourselves into this…"

"Sam…"

"But if anything happened to you…." her voice trailed off and she could only look at him, hoping he understood just what losing him would do to her.

"Come here," he replied, taking her into his arms again, burying his face in her neck. Sam tried to imprint in her memory every sensation of the moment. The smell of his aftershave. The warmth of his body. The gentle breath on her skin. The sandpaper feel of his face next to her. The pressure of his lips. The touch of his hands….

What if all of this were for the last time? Sam tried to block out that thought, to think only of the moment, but even as she embraced him her fingers could feel the scars he carried from the myriad times she had nearly lost him before. And they only served to remind her that, at best, they were living on borrowed time.

Before they left the house, taking their separate cars, Jack stopped her.

"Sam…you know…you're not the only one who worries."

For Jack, Sam knew, this was an enormous confession.

"I know," she told him, kissing his cheek.

"And, uh…" he winced a little and scrutinized the floor, as if the words he was looking for might be found there. "If anything ever happened to you…."

Sam waited, her eyes welling with tears.

"I'd have Mitchell's ass," he concluded.

Sam laughed in spite of herself.

"Should I tell him that?" she asked, trying to mirror his lightening of the moment.

"I already have," Jack replied, and Sam couldn't tell whether he was kidding or not. She reached to pick her keys up off the table but Jack intercepted her hand.

"I'd die," he said simply, his eyes dark and serious meeting her own. Sam nodded, a lump in her throat.

"Me too," she replied quietly, holding his gaze for a few more moments.

"So—be careful, huh?" he told her, letting her hand go.

"Yeah. You too."

Neither of them moved.

"See you in a few weeks, then," said Jack, finally.

Sam nodded, still not quite able to walk away.

"I suppose we should…go?" he asked, his eyes not leaving hers.

"They hate it when you're late," she replied., still rooted to the spot.

"Yeah, I know. Did I mention that I love you?"

Sam caught her breath. She hadn't seen that one coming. She knew Jack loved her, but it wasn't something he actually came right out and said very often.

"Wow," she replied, stunned. "That's…that's…"

"Not what you expected?"

"Yeah…"

Jack nodded.

"So. Marry me."

Sam didn't think she'd heard right.

"What?"

Jack suddenly studied the floor again.

"Look, I'm really horrible at this stuff." He took a deep breath and looked up at her. "I love you. Will you marry me?"

"You ask me now?" Sam's head was swimming. This was…so Jack.

He shrugged.

"Is there a better time?"

Sam couldn't help herself. A huge grin spread across her face and she shook her head in disbelief. She stepped up to Jack and kissed him long and hard.

"No, there isn't. And yes. I will."

For a moment Jack looked startled.

"Really?" he asked and paused a moment, as if absorbing her reply. "Great! Okay, let's go to work."

And with that Jack headed out the door, leaving Sam, dumbfounded, to follow behind.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

**CHASMS**

Sam closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was refreshingly cold. Icy and sharp. She tilted her face skyward and let the needle-sharp shards of snow pelt her forehead and her cheeks even as the wind whipped her hair behind her. Exhaling she tried to focus only on the external physical sensations of the blizzard. The frigidness of the wind. The piercing wetness of the snow. The dampness of her face as the snow clung then melted from her hair, trickling down her hairline. She was cold, standing there with no more protection than her green BDUs, but the coldness was a welcomed distraction, a place to put her attention for a few moments, a way to stand down, if only briefly, from what Landry had ordered her to do when they'd returned from their thwarted attempt at retrieving Merlin's weapon.

As if that mission hadn't been disastrous enough.

_No. Focus!_ Sam reprimanded herself. _Snow. Think: blizzard._

She took another deep breath and shivered. Opening her eyes she looked around. Aside from two well-protected airmen in the nearby guardhouse, the entry to Cheyenne Mountain was empty. A few months ago it had been a different story. Blizzard not withstanding, the entry to NORAD would have been well-guarded. But NORAD was gone—downsized and relocated in this new era of national threat and global insecurity. Now the only thing left inside Cheyenne Mountain was the Stargate program—a program which, on the record, did not exist. Which made it difficult to explain why over a hundred people showed up for work at a closed airbase every day. But security wasn't Sam's job. That was Landry's. And Jack's.

The rock was in her stomach again. She tried to refocus, but the moment was gone. Now she was just cold and wet and snow-bound in a closed Air Force base, not able even to make it home—not that she would have gone, even if she could have. There was no point in remaining outside, with physical misery compounding her emotional state. She nodded at the two guards, who regarded her with a look that she could only interpret as indulgent, and headed back inside, shaking the snow off of her jacket and her boots as she went.

Three days they had been shut in by the weather. Three days since they'd returned empty-handed and without Daniel. Four days since Jack's distress call from the Pegasus galaxy that Atlantis was under attack from Replicators. Sam felt she was marking time by disasters. The blizzard was an annoyance, but a temporary one. The failure to secure the ancient weapon could have galactic repercussions. The loss of Daniel, both personally and professionally, was a blow. And Jack…Sam blew out a breath and wiped her face, telling herself it was just melted snow. Jack's loss—if he was, in fact, really gone this time, would leave her as bitter and frigid as the environment she'd just left.

The elevator door groaned shut behind her and with an uncharacteristic jerk the numbers began scrolling by: 18…19…20…21... The sharp pimple-raising screech of metal on metal shook the car and it ground to a halt, shunting Sam a little to one side of the elevator. The red digital numbers that identified the floor flickered momentarily and the screen went dark. A few seconds later the rest of the lights followed, leaving her in complete and unrelenting blackness.

Sam waited. One heartbeat. Two. If it were a base-wide power loss the back-up emergency generators should kick on within five seconds. If it was a problem with the elevator…. Five. Six. Seven. Still, no lights. Sam sighed wearily. Great. Just what she needed.

Feeling her way around the walls of the elevator, which was definitely tilted, she found the intercom system and pressed the button. Nothing happened. Of course not. If there was no power to the elevator, then there would be no functional intercom. Which meant she would have to wait for someone to discover there was a problem and even longer for them to figure out how to fix it. Which also meant, as Sam slid to the floor and pulled her knees up to her chin, her wet hair and her wet clothes feeling suddenly more chill in the unheated shaft, that she was probably in for a long wait.

Fingering inside her jacket, Sam found her dog tags and pulled them out. She tried to see them in the dark, but it was no use. She might as well have been blind. Feeling, she found the ring that hung around the chain with the tags. It was heavy—a man's ring—and too big for her to wear, but she grasped it in the palm of her hand and held it up to her cheek, as if it were a life line.

Jack had given it to her the morning he had left for Atlantis.

He had found her in her lab, trying to tie up a few loose ends before heading off in search of Merlin's weapon. She thought they had said their good-byes already, in the privacy of her house, but the sound of footsteps that slowed and then stopped just out of sight of the doorway had caused her to look up. When no one appeared, Sam had asked:

"Is somebody there?"

Jack's head had popped around the corner, like a kid caught eavesdropping on his parents.

"Nope," he'd replied. She'd grinned, then furrowed her brow.

"I thought you were due to leave at 0900?" she'd said, checking her watch. It was 0950.

Jack shrugged and came in the rest of the way.

"Woolsey's late," he'd explained. "Forgot to pack his personality, or something. Whattcha doin'?"

Sam shook her head.

"Just trying to cram in a few more projections before we head off-world. Landry's got me trying to assess how long it will be before the entire galaxy goes Ori."

"Later, rather than sooner, I'm hoping."

"Well, it depends. There are so many variables to factor in, and we don't know to what extent the Ori have intel on which planets are…" Sam had stopped. She was over talking again. "Sorry. That's probably not why you're here."

Jack had smiled.

"No. It's not."

She'd waited as he seemed to be searching for something else to say.

"Sir?"

"It's me, Sam," Jack had replied, and Sam knew this was a personal visit, not a professional one.

"Yeah," Jack went on, finally. "You know, what we were talking about back at the house this morning…"

Sam's cheeks had flushed. She had wondered if she'd only imagined his proposal.

"You mean when you asked me if I'd…."

"Yeah. That," he'd said, cutting her off.

Sam had felt her stomach clench. He was going to take it back, say he'd made a mistake.

"I, um…." Jack had stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled something out. "I couldn't get to a store—at least not one that didn't include a Big Gulp with every fill-up—so I thought—maybe—this would do in the meantime."

He'd held out his hand and in it was a ring. A man's ring, gold, with the Air Force's old insignia on it.

"I know it's not exactly a diamond—and you really can't wear it, but I thought—I mean, I just wanted you to have something…and, hey, it was better than a spare o-ring from a naquadah generator."

Sam had picked up the ring, words escaping her.

"It's my academy graduation ring," he'd explained, unnecessarily.

"Wow," was all Sam could finally manage.

"Yeah—when I get back then we can go get a real one. Ring, I mean. Engagement ring." His voice trailed off uncertainly.

Sam had smiled at his awkwardness. She didn't know how to tell him that he could buy her the most beautiful engagement ring in the world and it wouldn't mean as much to her as what he offered her on the palm of his hand. She'd slid it on her finger, where it promptly slid around.

"I love it. Thank you." She had stood and put her arms around him, not caring a wit about the security cameras.

"Really?" he'd asked, holding her away so he could see her face.

"Really," Sam had assured him, and proceeded to show him how much with a kiss.

"Sure, make it hard for a guy to leave," Jack had admonished her a few moments later, holding her away from him again, this time in more of a defensive stance. Sam had grinned at him, and slipping off her dog tags had slipped the ring on to the chain. When she'd put it back over her head she could feel the weight of the ring against her chest. It was comforting. Jack watched her and he had smiled slightly, as if the sight of her wearing it pleased him.

"Well," he had said, gesturing toward the door. "I guess I'd better go light a fire under Woolsey. Or set Woolsey on fire. Something like that that."

"Be careful, Jack," Sam had told him, the feeling of dread she'd had about this mission returning.

"Hey. They're a bunch of Ancients. We speak the same language…or at least, I used to…."

Sam smiled in spite of herself.

"You be careful too," he had told her, his eyes serious and dark.

"Always," she had assured him. Their eyes had locked for a few moments, neither saying what had already been said or what was too frightening to say aloud. Then with a slight nod, he'd been gone.

That was the last time Sam had seen him. She opened her palm and slipped the ring on her finger as far as it would go with the chain through it and pressed it against her face. The gold felt warm, almost alive. Maybe this was all that she would ever have of him. Maybe this was the only part of him she would ever be able to touch again.

The boulder was in her stomach again. As heavy as it had been when Landry broke the news to them. Not that her gut hadn't already been in a knot. The mission to find Merlin's weapon had been a disaster. Not only had they learned that Ba'al had a three day lead on them searching for the weapon, but the Ori had shown up, terrorizing the locals. Then their guide turned out to be none other than the Orici herself, and SG-1 had found itself in a bizarre and uneasy alliance with Adria and Ba'al as they followed the clues Morgan LeFay had left behind. Leave it to Daniel to figure it out and actually take them to where the weapon was. But it had all gone to hell after that, and they'd barely escaped with their lives, returning home without the weapon, without Ba'al, without Adria and without Daniel.

How they'd managed to lose Daniel, Sam wasn't sure. She had glimpsed several private exchanges between him and Adria, and Sam had the suspicion that Daniel had been as much Adria's quarry as the San Graal. For the hundredth time she berated herself for stepping through the gate without making sure Daniel was right on her heels; but he'd assured them he would be right behind them, and they'd trusted him. When the wormhole had sucked itself closed and there was no Daniel, Sam's heart had sunk. The disbelief she felt was mirrored on the three faces next to her on the platform, the anguish on Vala's face nearly unbearable to look at.

No doubt he had done the Daniel-thing—as Jack called it—again: sacrificed himself for the rest of the team. And as much as that was what made Daniel Daniel, for once Sam was damned well angry at him for it. They needed him, now more than ever. None of them understood the Ori as well as Daniel did. He had insights into the Ori's motivations and behavior that gave them the only advantage they had. Without Daniel in the fray, their chances of defeating the Ori had gotten a whole lot slimmer.

And, selfishly, Sam admitted to herself, she needed Daniel too. Not only because he was her friend, but, with Jack in danger—possibly even dead—Daniel was the only one she could have gone to with her fear, her anger, her grief. Cameron, Teal'c, even Vala—they were good friends, but only Daniel truly understood the complexity and the depth of her relationship with Jack. The others may have suspected, but she'd never given them any indication, one way or another. And it was only to Daniel that she had confided about Jack's proposal, as they had trudged their way from the gate to the medieval town where the whole misadventure had begun.

"That's great," he had said, smiling. "Really. I'm happy for both of you."

Sam had watched his face and saw more than just a smile. Was it a grin?

"What?" she'd asked him. He couldn't help himself. The grin widened.

"Nothing…it's just that…." he apparently had decided not to go on.

"What?" Sam had probed. "Tell me."

"It's just…well, in every other alternate universe we've come across, you and Jack have been together. It seemed like, I don't know—fate. No matter what the obstacles—not matter how long it took, you ended up together. Having it finally happen here…well, it's like some great cosmic balance has finally been achieved."

"Yeah. Like the fate of the galaxy really depends on our relationship," Sam had said with a laugh, trying not to think about how all those other Sam/Jack relationships had ended .

"Who knows," Daniel had replied. "It just might. It has in other realities."

"Sure—no pressure," had been Sam's response, and the conversation had ended as Mitchell had dropped back to ask Daniel a question about the Grail.

She and Daniel had shared one final understanding look over Cam's head and the mission had proceeded. Ba'al. Adria. The dragon. Merlin. And Daniel was gone. Landry had not been happy. He'd snapped at them almost from the moment they had stepped through the gate and he'd realized Daniel wasn't with them. During the debriefing, when he had come to understand that really there was no way to launch any kind of rescue operation, Landry had sagged like a deflated balloon. It was only then that he had dropped his own bomb on them.

"Before you go," he'd said as they had started to rise, assuming the debriefing was over. "There have been some developments in the past 24 hours that I think you should be aware of."

He'd hit the button on the remote and the large view screen lit up. Sam saw Jack's static-jagged face frozen in a pause position. Landry tapped another button and Jack sprang to life.

"_Atlantis is under attack from Replicators," he shouted. "Somehow they figured out how to override their programming. The Ancients were taken off-guard and have lost most of the city already. Request immediate evacuation!"_

In the background Woolsey was shooting at something with what seemed to be Jack's Beretta. His cry of "They're coming!" preceded the immediate termination of the transmission. Landry had turned to the stunned group sitting at the table.

"They never made it to the gate," he added solemnly.

"But I thought…" Sam had started to say, only to have the general cut her off.

"Yeah. We all did. Seems when the Atlantis team tinkered with their one Replicator it set a precedent which allowed all the other Replicators to rewrite their base programming."

"Request permission to lead a rescue mission," Mitchell had pounced.

Landry had shaken his head.

"Can't let you do that, Colonel. First of all, there's to be no rescue—General O'Neill's standing order," he'd added, cutting off the protest that had been on Sam's lips. "When it comes to Replicators, we can't let them get another foothold in our galaxy. The Daedelus is on it's way to Atlantis to sink the city with a nuke. Now, my first group of advisors on this situation decided to take matters into their own hands, and God help me, I'll either court-martial them or pin a medal on them if they succeed. But in the meantime, I need to know how to get around those Atlantean shields, and Colonel Carter, you're the best brains we have around here on that subject."

Sam had barely heard him. Barely comprehended what he was asking of her. Landry had stopped the video feed on Jack's face so it was frozen up on the screen. Frozen, just as she'd felt at that moment. Iced. From head to toe. Her ears were pounding. Her breathing seemed…difficult. Landry'd had to repeat her name.

"Colonel Carter?"

Sam had blinked at him, as if he were a two headed alien.

"Sir?"

"I need you to work on a way to get a nuke around Atlantis' shield. You have three days to figure something out. Dismissed."

No one had moved.

"General, if you don't mind my asking, what exactly did you mean by your first group of advisors taking matters into their own hands?" Vala's velvet voice seemed to soften Landry a little.

"Shepherd—Colonel Shepherd—aided and abetted by Drs. McKay, Weir and, God knows why, Beckett—commandeered our resident puddle-jumper and used the intergalactic bridge to jump their way back to the Pegasus galaxy, in what I presume is a daring rescue attempt. Whatever knowledge they had of the Atlantis shield they took with them. I'm afraid you're on your own, Colonel. Dr. Jackson and the Ori notwithstanding, you need to make this your priority for now. Dismissed," he'd repeated, watching them carefully, lest they find another question to ask.

Sam had stood, numbly, going through the motions of following the others out of the room, but then she'd stopped and turning, followed Landry into his office, closing the door behind her.

"Sir, I need to talk to you," she'd said. Landry nodded.

"I figured you would."

"General, I'm…I'm not sure I can do what you're asking of me," she had stammered. Landry had eyed her sharply.

"Is that because you think it can't be done, you don't have the skill to do it, or you don't want to do it?" he had asked, studying her.

"Pick one," Sam had murmured, letting a bit of insubordination creep into the tone of her voice. Landry had arched an eyebrow at her.

"Excuse me, Colonel?" he'd answered back, offering her a chance to backup and try again.

"What I mean, General," Sam had said, trying to take the edge off her voice, "Is that I'm not in anyway familiar with the Atlantis systems—that's McKay's job. And even if I were, I'm not sure there's a way around the shield. I mean, we're talking Ancient technology here, which we have only the slightest understanding of at best. And this time it's being tended to by genuine Ancients, whose knowledge and memories of how it all works are as fresh as if they'd left it a few weeks ago instead of tens of thousands of years. Not to mention that they have multiple, fully functional ZPMs powering the city now. I just don't know enough about it and I'm not convinced even McKay himself could figure a way through those shields."

"Well, unfortunately I don't have Dr. McKay available to test your theory, Colonel. I simply have you. And McKay's notes. It's not ideal, but it's what we've got. I know you'll figure something out. Unless, of course, you don't want to."

Sam hadn't been able to say anything. She studied a paperclip that had worked its way off some document and teetered precariously on the edge of Landry's desk.

"Look, Colonel." Landry's voice had softened. "Don't think I don't know what it is I'm asking of you. And if there were any other way, believe me, I wouldn't be putting you through this. But you and Jack knew there were risks. And I can tell you this: if he thought we'd pulled any punches trying to save him, putting his well-being above the risk of letting Replicators back into our galaxy, he'd kick my ass from here to Atlantis, and yours too."

"Yes, sir," Sam had murmured, not looking at the general. He was right. She had known it. How many times had Jack put it all on the line to save earth, knowing that the odds were against his survival? How many times had he willingly sacrificed himself? If they didn't nuke Atlantis, and the Replicators made it to earth, that would be the end of everything. Jack's order was the right order. She just wished she wasn't the one who had to make sure it was carried out.

_I'd have rather died myself than lose Carter._

Jack's words from all those years ago had come to her. As did the ones they'd spoken just before he had left…was it a mere three days ago?

_If anything happened to you…I'd die._

_Me too._

And she would. She would carry out Landry's order—Jack's order. But it would kill her, inside.

Sam knew she would never be the same again.

Finally she had looked up and met General Landry eye for eye.

"I'll have it figured out by the time the Daedelus gets there, sir."

Landry actually looked at her sadly.

"I know you will, Colonel. Dismissed."

And she had. God help her, she had. McKay was as anal in his documentation as he was in person. His notes, unlike Daniel's, were pristine, detailed and meticulous. By the end of the third day, Sam had figured a way around the shields and developed a back-up plan in case the Replicators had somehow managed to modify the existing Atlantean systems. She had accomplished what had been asked of her, but she had done it as though she wasn't really there. Scientist Sam was detached, remote, focused on the problem and its solution. It was the only way she could do what she had to. She could not think of Jack. She could not think of what the result of her efforts would mean for him. She had to keep every one of those thoughts at bay.

And so it was, at 0624 that morning she had presented Landry with the specifications needed to destroy Atlantis…and herself. She had walked into his office, placed the report on his desk and, turning on her heels, walked out. Taking the elevator up to ground level she had felt fresh air for the first time in days, remembering, only barely, talk of a blizzard that had overwhelmed Colorado just days before Christmas, stopping everything at a dead standstill at the busiest time of year.

Christmas. In the dark Sam felt for her watch and hit the illumination button. A pale green glow revealed that the date was December 23rd. How had it gotten to be two days before Christmas? She was supposed to fly to California tomorrow to spend the holidays with her brother and his family. Well, that wasn't going to happen. At least the weather provided an excuse for not going. She could not have endured a family visit—not now.

Sam leaned her head on her arms and sighed. She was still wet. Even colder. More miserable than when she had gone to the surface, and there did not seem to be any sign of imminent rescue from the malfunctioning elevator. She checked her watch again. 0823. She'd been stuck for over an hour. In less than forty-five minutes the Daedelus would deliver its payload. As of this morning Landry had not heard from Shepherd and his team and he'd had their IDCs locked out of the computer. There was no way of telling what had happened to them; perhaps they had died coming up against the 'Lantean shield. Maybe they had made it to the city, only to be overwhelmed by the Replicators themselves. Maybe there had been a problem with the intergalactic bridge and they had never made it there in the first place. They might never know for sure, especially once Atlantis was destroyed. At least it would save Shepherd from being court-martialed, Sam thought wryly. Not for the first time she wished she could have gone in their place.

She wondered if that was how Jack had felt, the first time he had gone to Abydos. Daniel had told her that the only reason Jack had agreed to go through the gate the first time was because he believed it to be a suicide mission. Charlie had died not too many months before and Jack, despondent, had figured it was easier to go on a mission from which there was no return than to put a revolver to his head. Sam had never before understood that kind of despair. While she couldn't begin to fathom Jack's pain at the loss of his son, neither could she have imagined choosing to die deliberately, when there was a choice.

Now she could.

Losing Jack was bad enough.

Being the one who killed him was more than she could endure.

Sam dug the heels of her hands into her eyes and let out a moan of helpless rage. She should have refused to follow Landry's orders. She should have told him she couldn't figure out a way around the shields. Hell, she should have resigned before giving them what they needed to destroy Jack.

But she hadn't. She'd been a good little soldier and done as she was told. Done what she had been trained to do. Sacrifice. Wasn't that what her life was all about anyway? Wasn't that what Jack had taught her after all these years? That it wasn't always your body that you had to lay down in the service of others, but sometimes your soul?

She'd already offered her life a couple of times. This was a hell of a lot harder.

Maybe too hard.

The elevator gave a jerk and Sam was thrown sideways to the floor. The angle was all wrong and it occurred to Sam that perhaps there was more than a simple power loss going on. Given the tilt of the car, it was entirely possible that one of the cables may have broken or come off the mechanism at the top of the shaft. The last floor she remembered seeing was 21. If the cable snapped, the car would plunge a good seven-plus levels. Sam found the thought oddly comforting. Not exactly a noble death—Teal'c would be disappointed for her—but it was better than living with the knowledge that she was the one responsible for Jack's death.

An image sprang into Sam's mind, seen with eyes that were and yet were not her own: Jack, Zat in hand, hesitating, wrestling with his own emotions, and finally firing—at her. Her sense of shock—that he would do such a thing, yet an understanding that he had no choice, because that the body that had been Sam Carter was not controlled by the mind that had been Sam Carter. And in a brief split second, before her consciousness had swirled into the bizarre existence of the base computer, Jack firing a second time. A lethal shot; killing her, because he had no choice.

Janet told her how he had stayed by her bedside, refusing to give the go-ahead to remove life support, despite Sam's living will. Janet had been worried for him, she'd confessed to Sam. There was an absolute stillness to Colonel O'Neill that she had come to associate with people who have reached some silent decision that usually involved a handful of pills or a speeding car over the edge of a ravine.

_I'd have rather died myself than lose Carter._

He'd done what he'd had to to stop the alien entity from destroying them all. It didn't mean he had to live with it.

And neither did she.

Sam had never feared death before, but neither had she welcomed it.

Now she did.

There was a groaning noise over her head and the characteristic sproing of a cable snapping.

Sam found her breath was coming in shallow gasps. This was really going to happen. She was helpless to stop it.

Cassie. That would be her only regret. She'd fought hard to bring her foster daughter back from the edge after Janet's death. It had been a long and painful journey for both of them. This time Cass would be on her own—not even Jack or Daniel would be around to help. It would be tough, and Sam was sorry for it. Forgive me, Cass, she thought. I wish I could spare you this. You deserve better.

Sam's watch chimed and she pressed the light on it again. Zero Hour. Her mind leapt to the Daedelus. She envisioned the sequence of commands as Colonel Caldwell ordered the launch of the nuclear warhead; counted down until the missile reached its target; imagined the size and the scope of the explosion; felt the shockwave as the radiation vaporized everything within fifty miles of ground zero. Saw Jack, alive one moment, crumbled to ashes the next.

It was over. Even if he had survived the Replicators he wouldn't survive one of her naquadah-enhanced warheads.

Atlantis was gone.

And so was Jack.

Sam was too numb to even mourn.

Come on! She thought at the unseen cable. What are you waiting for? End this. Please.

As if it had head her, the cable groaned again and she felt the car drop a couple of inches.

A girlhood prayer, unuttered in years, escaped her lips as she brought Jack's image back to her mind. He would be the last thing she thought of, the last face she saw, even if it was only a memory.

There was another metallic sound from above her head and the elevator jolted down a few inches more. Sam waited, holding her breath.

A sound came, but it wasn't the final cable cord breaking. There were far off voices and the sound of something being pried apart.

"Colonel? Colonel Carter? Are you in there?"

She recognized the voice.

It was Siler.

Sam debated whether she should answer. If she didn't then they wouldn't be in any rush to fix the elevator, and it could still drop to the bottom of the shaft. She could end this right now.

"Colonel? Are you all right?"

Landry this time. Still Sam did not respond. She felt eerily detached from the whole situation. It was odd, weighing whether to live or whether to die.

"Dammit, Sam! Are you all right?"

Cameron. Earnest. Like a kid brother. People who cared about her. Who cared what happened to her, even if she didn't care what happened to herself. They would be there for her; they would help her though this. She would not need to mourn Jack alone.

But none of them would understand. None of them would know the depth of the pain. They couldn't begin to imagine, just as she couldn't imagine Jack's pain over Charlie. She understood now. She felt it, now. No. This was her Abydos. And she would succeed where Jack had failed.

"Carter? Sam? Dammit! I didn't come all the way back from the Pegasus galaxy to scrape you up in pieces from the bottom of the SGC, now if you're in there answer me!"

Sam's heart began to pound.

Jack?

It couldn't be. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She was shivering now, from the cold and from the certainty of the fate she had chosen. No. It had to be some illusion her brain was creating as a means of self-preservation. She grasped Jack's ring even more tightly and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Sam? God, Sam! Answer me, damn it! Are you all right?"

The illusion was persistent. Too persistent. She had to know for sure.

"Jack?" she called up, tentatively.

"Yeah!"

Sam closed her eyes and a relief she had never felt before flooded through her. He was alive. Alive. Alive.

"Oh my God, Jack! I thought…I mean…."

"Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated," he called down to her.

Sam scrambled to her feet, causing the elevator to sway.

"Hey…easy!" Jack warned her. Sam could hardly hear him. Her head was pounding and her breath was coming in jagged sobs. "Siler's going to jury-rig a second cable to stabilize this thing…try to stay still," he added.

It seemed to take forever for Siler to secure the elevator car. By the time he did, Sam's teeth were chattering from the cold. There was a thump over her head and the sound of a blow torch. Ten minutes later a sizeable chunk of the car ceiling dropped to the floor at her feet and an airman stuck his head in, a lamplight on his head catching her in the eye, temporarily blinding her.

"Sorry, ma'am," the airman apologized, adjusting the light so it didn't shine directly at her. Sam squinted her gratitude. "Are you okay?" the airman added.

"A little cold, but otherwise fine," Sam lied, reaching up to take hold of two sets of arms which were now extended through the ceiling. With a little help she managed to scramble through the hole and found herself atop the elevator car, bright lights shining down on her from the overhead door which had been wedged open from the 20th floor. A small crowd was gathered around the opening. A collapsible ladder extended from the door down the side of the shaft to the top of the car and Sam made her way to it, climbing the fifteen or so rungs to the top where more arms reached for her, helping her through the doorway and onto the solid surface of the 20th floor. She stood there a moment, catching her breath, blinking in the bright light. Dr. Lam got to her first.

"Colonel…are you alright?"

Sam looked around for Jack, but she didn't see him.

"What?" she answered, distractedly. "Oh…yeah. Just cold."

"Somebody get me a blanket!" Lam called, and from somewhere a blanket appeared. The doctor put it around Sam's shoulders.

Cam was next to her, Teal'c too. And Landry. She assured them she was fine. She even forced a smile, trying to prove it. Still, she saw no sign of Jack.

Now that the rescue was over, the crowd was thinning out.

Finally, she couldn't wait.

"Where's General O'Neill?" she asked Landry.

"Right here," said a voice from behind her.

Sam wheeled around. There stood Jack. Dirty. Tired-looking. Several days growth of beard darkening his face. But he was there. Alive. Vaguely Sam registered the presence of Dr. Weir and Rodney McKay, as well as John Shepherd and the Scottish doctor whose name Sam couldn't recall at the moment. But it was Jack who had her complete attention. He gave her a half-guilty smile.

For just a second, time seemed to stop. Jack was not dead. She had not killed him. He had survived the Replicators. He had been rescued. And he was standing there, a mere few feet from her, yet miles and miles away. Sam swallowed hard and time started up again.

"It's good to see you, sir," she choked out.

"You too, Carter."

It was awkward. It had to be. There were too many on-lookers.

"All right, people. I think this show is over. Back to work. And you…" Landry jabbed a finger at the Atlantis team. "We need to have a few words. In my office, now."

Sam noted that Shepherd and his people all shared a silent communication that was half dread, half self-satisfied knowledge that they'd done the right thing, no matter what the consequences. Sam felt a pang of sympathy: she'd seen that look on General Hammond's face and been on the receiving end of the about-to-be-issued reprimand. Sam found herself hoping that Landry would be as understanding as Hammond had usually been.

"And I need to do some medical checks," Lam announced in her brusque way. "Starting with you, General," she added, nodding at Jack. Jack started to open his mouth in obvious protest when Landry stopped in his tracks and turned back to her.

"I think General O'Neill can have a few moments before he reports to the infirmary, Doctor," he countermanded. "If I'm not mistaken, Colonel Carter, you had something in your lab the General needed to be brought up to speed on."

It took Sam a few moments to catch on to what Landry was trying to do for her.

"Ah, yeah. Of course. This way, General," she fumbled, still holding the blanket around her. She was shivering down to her inner core.

They had barely made it through the door of her lab when she threw her arms around him. Jack buried his face in her neck and held her tightly. They stood like that for a long time, simply holding one another, saying nothing. Finally Sam spoke.

"Oh God! I thought I'd killed you!" she whispered in his ear. "Landry ordered me…."

"I know," Jack cut her off, holding her tighter.

"But how…?"

"Long story." Which meant he didn't feel like talking about it now.

They held on to each other for a few more moments and Sam felt the shivering within her begin to abate.

Finally she looked at him. He was exhausted, filthy, bruised on the forehead where she guessed the Replicators had probed his mind. She ran her fingers over his face, letting her touch reaffirm for her what her eyes could see. Flesh and blood; living and breathing. Neither illusion nor dream. Jack, in her arms, she in his.

"Are you okay?" she asked, gently touching the swollen place on his forehead. He winced.

"Hell of a headache, but I've had worse. You?"

"Yeah. Fine." She decided not to mention that a mere half hour ago she'd been ready to welcome death by elevator.

"You didn't seem fine when we found you," Jack challenged her. "Why didn't you answer Landry or Mitchell?" Sam could tell from his voice that he had his suspicions, but she wasn't going to give him a chance to test them.

"I…I didn't hear them," she lied. Sam was fairly certain Jack knew it was a lie, but after studying her a moment, he seemed willing to let it go. Instead, he held her to him again, wrapping his arms around her.

Sam allowed herself to luxuriate in the warmth of his embrace for a few moments more before pulling away. In the time it had taken to get to her lab, she had made a decision. It had been surprisingly easy, all things considered. Telling Jack would be the hard part.

"Jack—I can't…I can't do this anymore."

Concern, perhaps a trace of fear, flashed across his face.

"Do what?" he asked, cautiously.

"This…" she indicated the area around her. "The SGC. The Air Force. Not if I have to go through something like this again."

"Sam…"

The fear was turning into anger now.

"Damn it, Jack! I nearly killed you! _Me_. _I_ was the one who figured out how to get a nuke around Atlantis' shields and sink the city. If Shepherd and his people hadn't rescued you first…." she could hear the desperation in her own voice, but she didn't care. She had to make him understand why she had to do this.

"It was your job, Sam. It was an order. My order."

For just a moment she found herself looking at General O'Neill. Her anger flared even hotter. She wasn't going to let him give her that warrior crap this time.

"Yeah, well, damn you, then, Jack! Damn you for doing that to me!"

Three days worth of fear and frustration boiled to the surface. Sam couldn't help it. She kicked at her lab stool and it went sailing across the room making a satisfying clatter as it crashed into a bank of monitors. There was a moment of tense silence before Jack spoke.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I never once thought Landry would give it to you. I figured on it being McKay, or one of the other Atlantis people."

General O'Neill vanished. Jack was looking at her with great sympathy and absolute acceptance of the blame she was trying to lay at his feet. It made her feel worse. And she wasn't done being angry.

"Well, it wasn't McKay! It was me. It was _my_ finger on the damned trigger, Jack! Do you have any idea what that was like?"

She saw Jack wince at her question. Then he said, quietly, painfully:

"Yeah. I think I do."

Sam caught her breath as the image of Jack, Zat aimed at her, popped back into her mind. She'd forgotten. Of course he knew what it felt like. He had been there. He'd had to do the same thing, and from what Janet had told her, it had damn near destroyed him too.

Sam sank back against the counter of her lab table, holding onto it for support. For nearly a year and a half they'd managed to keep their personal and professional lives separate. Sam supposed it was naïve to think that they could maintain it that way forever. But this time the two had crossed, and neither of them had fared very well as a result.

If it had been a near disaster this time, it could be even worse the next. He had to realize that. And he had to accept her decision, whether he liked it or now.

"Then you know why I have to do this," said Sam, more calmly now. "I have to resign, Jack. I very nearly didn't carry out Landry's order. I was ready to put you ahead of the entire galaxy. It could have compromised everything."

"It's what you did that counts, Sam. Not what you thought about doing."

"What I did was just as bad!" countered Sam. "I killed you!"

"I don't feel especially dead," he quipped, but Sam wasn't in any mood for his jokes.

"No thanks to me," she snapped back.

Jack sighed deeply, looking tired again. She didn't think this was quite the homecoming he'd been expecting.

"Look—I think we've had this discussion before. You can't give up your career, Sam. Not because of me."

Sam shook her head.

"It isn't just you, Jack. I've gotten too close—and I'm tired of losing people I care about. Next time it might be Teal'c—or Cam—or Dan…Vala. And I just don't know if I can make the hard choices anymore." _And I don't know if I can live with those choices, once I've made them._ "I mean, don't get me wrong, I love my job…I love what I do—but I don't trust myself. And if I don't trust myself, I can't let anyone else trust me either."

Jack looked at her sympathetically, but his face was troubled.

"Give it some time, Sam," he said gently. "Don't do anything you'll regret in a few days. You've had your nerves rattled—that's all. When the time comes, you'll be able to do what you have to. Just like you did today."

Sam thought of the elevator shaft and its alluring antidote to the pain she'd felt. If he only knew….

But of course, she wouldn't tell him.

She tried a different tactic.

"What about you—you were ready to retire last year."

Jack looked uncomfortable. His face tightened, as it always did when he had to say something the didn't want to say.

"That was different."

"How?" Sam demanded. "How is that any different than my wanting to resign now?"

Jack's grimace deepened. Sam steeled herself for what he was going to say next.

"We weren't at war, Sam.," he said quietly. "And I wasn't the best hope for winning that war."

Sam gaped at him and slowly began to shake her head.

"No—Jack. Please. Don't do that to me."

Jack studied the floor. It took him a moment before he could meet her eyes.

"Sam—I'm sorry. I wish it could be any other way. Hell, if it were up to me, we'd be sitting on a dock in Minnesota watching our kid play with the dog and listening to the mating call of Landry's Twinkie-headed tofu. But we both know there's more at stake here than what you and I want."

"Jack…."

"You know what we're up against," he sounded so weary. "You know it's only a matter of time before those Ori ships show up here. The Antarctic weapon may slow them down, but it's not going to keep them from coming back. They've got to be stopped before that, Sam. And you're the best there is."

Sam closed her eyes and absorbed his words. She wanted to shout at him that she wasn't the best. If she were smart enough to defeat the Ori she'd have done it by now. Daniel was the one he needed. Not her. Even Vala knew more about the Ori than she did—she was, after all, the mother of the Orici.

Then she opened her eyes and looked at Jack—really looked at him. Tired. Tortured. Care-worn. He looked like he'd aged five years in the five days since she'd seen him last. She hadn't realized until now just how great a toll his job was taking on him, Replicators notwithstanding. With the President, the Pentagon and the IOC breathing down his neck every minute of every day, it was no wonder was looking for any miracle she might have to offer him.

He was depending on her. Counting on her. She'd rarely ever let him down in the past and he expected her to pull this one off too.

She had no idea how.

But she'd figure something out.

Not just for the planet—or the galaxy.

For him.

_For us._

And maybe one day they could sit on that dock again and….

Sam furrowed her brow as his words replayed in her head.

_Watch our kid play with the dog…._

Wow.

His words gave her thoughts a possibility they had never allowed themselves to contemplate before.

Wow, indeed.

She realized he was watching her through her silent deliberations.

"Did…did you really mean that…about having a kid?" she found herself asking out loud. Jack looked startled, like maybe he hadn't meant for that to slip out. Too late.

"Yeah…sure. I mean…if you want to. Provided, of course she doesn't have to spend ten hours a day in prostration."

His comment brought her back to the matter at hand. Now was not the time to weave daydreams about the future. The present was insistently demanding enough.

Sam let out a deep sigh and nodded.

"Fine. Sure. Defeat the Ori. Anything else you'd like tossed in there? A cure for cancer, maybe? An end to world hunger? Maybe I could part the Red Sea…."

She caught him giving her an appraising look, as if trying to figure out if she was being sarcastic or merely humorous. He must have decided on the latter.

"Well, there are a few issues in the Pegasus galaxy, but we can discuss those another time."

They were silent for a moment, contemplating the ramifications of what had just transpired.

"I really hate this, you know," Sam finally said, holding Jack's gaze. His eyes told her all she needed to know.

"Yeah. Me too."

He reached out and picked up her dog tags which she'd left hanging on the outside of her BDUs. The ring was where she had left it, securely attached to the chain. He gave a half-sad smile, as if it represented something no longer possible, before releasing it. Sam quickly covered it with her hand.

"You're not getting it back," she warned him. An eyebrow shot up.

"You sure?" There was a certain measure of relief in Jack's voice.

"Damned sure."

The first real smile she'd seen spread across his face. A few of those five years dropped away.

"You'd better get to the infirmary before Lam comes looking for you," Sam cautioned him, thinking maybe it was time to change the topic. As if to reinforce the point, seconds later the base intercom boomed:

"WILL GENERAL O'NEILL PLEASE REPORT TO THE INFIRMIRY IMMEDIATELY!"

Jack cleared his throat.

"I think maybe I'd better…" he indicated the door with his thumb.

"Yeah," agreed Sam.

He started to leave and then turned back to her.

"Do me a favor—stay outta elevators for a while, okay?"

Sam crossed her arms and stared him down.

"Do _me_ a favor and stay away from Atlantis for awhile, okay?"

Jack considered this and finally nodded.

"Deal."

And with that, he vanished.

Sam sighed and turned back to look at her lab. Amidst all the banks of computers, all the blinking lights and half-torn-down naquadah generators she spotted Merlin's cloaking device, sitting quiet and unobtrusive on a table shunted to one side of the room. Her head ached and her body ached and she decided that she really just needed to go to her quarters and get some sleep. She looked over at the cloaking device again and a germ of an idea sprouted somewhere in the back of her brain. She would definitely have to think more about it later. Right now, though, she needed rest. A nice long nap, all the way down to dream-filled REM sleep. And maybe, she thought, in those dreams, she'd spot a little girl with a fishing pole and a big dog and a sheepish grin just like her daddy's.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

**ACROSS THE LINE**

The pile had finally gotten too damn high and there was no way Jack could ignore it any longer. Beatrice had refused to let him leave for the day until he'd dealt with it. Why people insisted on sending him memos, he could not understand. Anyone who knew him knew he never read them unless absolutely forced to. It was an utter waste of paper, as far as he was concerned. And as if the memos that were meant for him weren't bad enough, he was always copied on six or seven other memos per day that had absolutely nothing to do with him whatsoever. As for e-mail—hell—he wasn't even going to touch that one. That's what he had a secretary for, after all. Someone who'd spare him from the damned e-mails.

With a sigh that acknowledged its inevitability, Jack reached for the top folder. It had a date stamp on it from two weeks ago. Well, if it was that old, and no one had bothered him about it by now, then it probably wasn't even worth reading. He pitched it into the recycling bin under his desk and reached for the next one.

The intercom on his phone buzzed and he pounced on it gratefully. Beatrice's modulated voice emerged from the speaker.

"Sir, there's a call for you from General Landry. He says it's urgent."

Jack's gut clenched. Hank Landry was not one to call on a whim. An urgent call from the SGC was rarely a good thing.

"Put him through."

A moment later Landry's voice came on the line.

"Jack."

"Hank." A beat. "What's going on?"

There was a momentary pause which made Jack's innards tighten even further.

"There's no easy way to say this, Jack. It's Colonel Carter."

Jack felt like he'd been sucker-punched. Air seemed to have left his lungs. It took a moment before he could even think to speak.

"What's happened?"

"The short version: SG-1 was on a mission and came under attack by the Ori. Sam got hit with an Ori staff blast. Mitchell stabilized her until the situation got under control, but they've just brought her back through the gate." He paused. "She's in pretty bad shape, Jack. Caroline's not sure…."

"I'll be there."

Even if I have to sprout wings and fly, Jack thought. Landry must have read his thoughts.

"As luck would have it, the Daedelus has just returned from Atlantis. We can offer you a quicker ride than you can get from Andrews."

Gotta love those Asgards and their beams.

"Give me five to wrap things up here first." He knew Beatrice would have a seizure if she came in and found him missing. Although it wouldn't be the first time.

"Five it is. I'll be waiting, Jack."

Jack hung down the phone. _She's in pretty bad shape. Caroline's not sure…_ He didn't want to hear the rest of that sentence. _Not Sam_. _God. Not Sam_.

A buzz to Beatrice. She was as placid as ever. Forty years working for the Pentagon, she was hardly the flappable type. If he needed his calendar cleared, she would clear it. If he needed the next few days rescheduled, she would reschedule it. And if he needed that mountain of memos disposed of—that he would still have to do himself. Taking a look at his watch, he pulled out the recycling bin and with one arm swept the entire contents of the in-box into it. Now he could leave. And the sooner the better.

Jack barely had time to acknowledge Steven Caldwell on the bridge of the Daedelus before the beam of light surrounded him again and he was in Landry's office. His old office. Actually, George Hammond's old office. It had been three years since George had left, but Jack still found himself reacting with surprise when anyone other than Hammond was sitting behind that desk. Hank rose from the chair and came around, offering his hand, but there was no smile on his face. Jack didn't care. He didn't have one to give either. He wanted to see Sam. Now.

Hank knew without asking and led the way out into the corridor at a fairly brisk clip. Good. Any slower and Jack would have been forced to run to the infirmary, bum knee notwithstanding. But this was a good pace. Hurried enough so he didn't have to show the level of panic that had been rising inside of him for the past six minutes.

"What the hell happened?" he asked finally, as they stepped into the elevator and worked their way up to the infirmary floor.

Hank sketched out the details of the mission and what had gone wrong.

"The Ori sonofabitch shot her in the back?"

"Apparently he tried. Colonel Carter turned just in time. Caught a good chunk of her left side. At least that's what Mitchell said."

Mitchell. Where the hell had he been? Why wasn't he covering her six?

"Even so, she managed to stay conscious. Even came up with a way to power the device to hide what was left of the village from the final Ori assault. She saved them, Jack. Even in her condition."

Yeah. That was Carter. Give 'til it hurts. Give 'til there's nothing left. Give, even if it's with your last earthly breath. Wonder where the hell she'd learned _that_ from.

"Will she make it?"

At the moment, that was the only piece of information he was remotely interested in. Unfortunately, it was the one bit of intel that Landry seemed to be without.

"I honestly don't know. Caroline's got her in surgery. Carter's tough. She'll fight, Jack. Don't count her out yet."

_I wouldn't be here if you thought it was a given she'd pull through._

Aloud, all he could manage was:

"Yeah."

He caught Landry giving him a sideways glance. Hank was handing him a bunch of crap and they both knew it. Hell, he'd given the same pep talk a hundred times himself. It was the standard speech for hopeless cases.

This was his fault. He should have let her quit. Accepted her resignation. Reassigned her to Area 51, the Pentagon, Bud's Bait and Tackle. Gotten her out of here, and the Ori be damned. They should have run off and spent whatever time they had left together, gotten a dog. Made a kid. Ridden motorcycles. Fished. So what if the Ori came. Better to die together happy sooner than to live out a long life alone.

But no. That wasn't him. It wasn't Sam. Save the world. Save the galaxy. One more time. With feeling. Only this time there was too much feeling. He'd sent the woman he loved more than life itself into the fray, and she was dying because of it.

The elevator door opened and Landry silently led the way to the observation room overlooking the operating theater. Up the stairs and to the windows until Jack was looking down on too much high tech equipment and a cluster of people around a table, going about their business at a quietly quickened pace.

Landry reached over to the microphone and switched it on.

"Dr. Lam, report."

One of the masked beings looked up. Eyes that weren't too different from those of the man standing next to him met Jack's and the head bobbed in acknowledgement.

"Her injuries are extensive," a disembodied voice said, reverberating slightly with the hollowness of the room. "We'll do our best, sirs."

Jack didn't trust himself to speak. He couldn't see Sam's face or even her tousled hair. All he could see were her feet, her legs almost too long for the table on which she lay.

_Long legs that wouldn't quit strolled by him on the dock and sat down, dangling over the edge with a toe in the water._

_Don't scare the fish._

_Jack, there's one fish in the entire pond. And I think it goes into hiding every time your lure hits the water._

_And your point is?_

_She didn't answer him, but leaned back on the palms of her hands and raised her face to the sun, her eyes closed, her face blissfully at peace. He could appreciate her mood. Anubis was locked in eternal conflict. The kull warriors defeated at the hands of the Jaffa. Area 51 was waiting for her. Retirement was waiting for him. No Pete. No Kerry. Just them…fishing. Life didn't get any better._

No. Just a helluva lot worse. The constant beep beep from the vital signs monitor grated on Jack's nerves. He didn't want to be here helpless, distant. Yet there was nothing he could do down there, except be in the way. Still. If only he could see her face. Somehow, it might have made it better.

The door to the observation room opened and three familiar faces appeared. Teal'c, somber and taciturn. Vala, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Mitchell, looking like a whipped puppy, his gaze not quite meeting Jack's. They moved to stand directly behind him and Landry, no one saying a word.

Finally Vala broke the silence.

"How is she?"

"Hanging in there," Landry replied, the pseudo-optimism not fooling anyone. A pained silence followed, interrupted only by the microphoned report of the vital sign monitor and the unintelligible murmurings of the surgical team from the room below. Jack heard a labored sigh from someone—Mitchell, he thought. By all accounts his efforts had saved Sam's life. Still, Jack couldn't shake the feeling that what he really would like to do was to tear Mitchell limb from limb and ask him why the hell he hadn't been there to assure Sam's safety in the first place.

_Carter!_

_Sir, just go!_

_She was close enough to touch. Close enough to see the panic on her face. Close enough to grab and pull to safety, except he couldn't. An invisible wall separated them and they may as well have been two hundred miles apart._

_NO!_

_He'd tried to beat the crap out of the controls with no effect. The marching steps of the Jaffa were coming closer and he could feel his heart pounding painfully in his own chest. They wouldn't stop to ask questions. They wouldn't take her prisoner. They would aim their staff weapons the moment they turned the corner and they would kill her. The inevitability of it was written all over her face. _

_Sir…_

_Their eyes had locked, and it seemed as if time had stopped dead in its tracks. Realization struck him, like a zat at close range. Emotions he hadn't felt in a very long time rushed him and he found he could barely breathe. If anything happened to Carter…if she died…. Suddenly nothing else mattered. Not Apophis' fancy new ship, not the Tok'ra and their damned bracelets, not the entire snakehead population and their thousand little nefarious deeds. If Carter died…then he wanted to too. A universe that didn't have Sam Carter in it was no place he wanted to be._

_Her eyes pleaded with him. For what? Rescue? Hell, yes. But there was something more. The same yearning he felt, to say things that couldn't be said? He searched her face and knew he was right. Her feelings were as close to the surface as his, thanks to those damned bracelets. And he wasn't imagining it. _

_The Jaffa came closer. Time ran out. He didn't move. In a few minutes the ship would blow and then the whole damn mountain. They would die together, yet oddly apart, separated by the damned force shield._

_An explosion. He found himself kissing the floor. A shimmer and the force shield dropped. Freedom._

_And yet, somehow, more trapped than before; those unsummoned emotions forced back into their confinement._

And still locked up. At least in the presence of others. Like now. Of the four others in the room, only Landry knew. Not even Teal'c was fully aware of his and Sam's relationship. She'd preferred it that way, especially after she returned to the SGC. _It will make things less complicated if no one knows how closely I have the general's ear_, she had explained. Daniel was the only one she had told, in part, Jack guessed, because their friendship was so close. Two peas in a pod. Why Sam had preferred himself to Daniel, Jack had never been able to figure out. Daniel and Sam seemed a more natural couple than the two of them did. But that was what made the universe so perversely marvelous. She didn't love Daniel, she loved Jack. And God help him, he loved her too.

A commotion from the room below brought him back to the painful present. Bells and whistles were going off. Gowned figures were scurrying madly. Dr. Lam was issuing orders in a way that would have made Janet Fraiser proud. After many agonizing moments, the rhythmic pulse of the monitor was beeping again, and Jack decided that perhaps it was the loveliest of sounds after all. It was the sound of Sam's heart, still beating.

He could stand there and listen to it all night.

_The crickets chirruping and the buzzing of the night bugs had kept him awake long after her breathing had settled into the slow and steady rhythm of sleep. Once before she had snuggled against him like this, a lifetime ago in a frigid place he only visited in his nightmares. He knew he had called her Sara, and to ease his pain, she had been Sara for him. Death had been close, but she had staved it off, beating it back with what little body heat she still possessed. He owed her for that. And he owed her for so much more he could never talk about, not even to her. In the moonlight that reflected off the pond and through the window he studied her face, the line of her neck, the way her hair glowed in the semi-light. God, what had he done to deserve her? How was he even worthy? And how long before this too would be wrenched from him, as had every other good thing in his life? The fear that had shadowed any happiness since the day Charlie had died stuck in his throat. He didn't believe in curses or jinxes or nonsense like that, but he did have an overwhelming suspicion that the universe had it out for Jack O'Neill. Nothing was given but that it wasn't also taken away. A great, cosmic scale._

_She stirred in her sleep, a smile brushing her lips. Maybe a good dream. Then her eyes opened and the smile broadened. The fear vanished. It would be back. But not here. Not now. His arms enfolded her and she rested her head against his chest. No broken ribs this time. No barriers. Just…peace. And the steady beating of his own heart._

Jack drew himself up, shaking off the memory, and glanced around the room. Vala was biting her nails, her eyes never leaving the glass and the activity beyond. Teal'c was station keeping, as if he might be called to spring into action at any moment. Mitchell—he still wanted to kick his ass—was sitting apart from the others, fiddling with some pen he'd discovered. Hank still stood by his side watching his daughter do her thing in the room below.

A wave of resentment passed over Jack. He wanted them all to leave—all except maybe Teal'c. The others were good people, but they weren't his people. And if anything happened to Sam, he didn't want them here keeping vigil with him. He didn't want to share her with them, if there was only a little time left. It was petty, and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself.

"Look," he said, clearing his throat. "Why don't the rest of you clear out? Get some rest. I'll stay and keep you posted. Hank, stand SG-1 down."

Hank looked at him with a nod.

"Already done, General."

"Sir, with all due respect," began Mitchell. Jack shot him at look that froze the next words on his lips, and the colonel clamped his mouth shut and nodded his acquiescence. Vala, however, would not go gently into that good night.

"Well, I'm certainly not going anywhere until I know what's going on down there," she piped up. Jack's glare had no effect. She settled herself on a stool and continued to keep watch. Jack was about to let loose when Teal'c stepped up and took her by the arm, gently raising her off the seat.

"I believe our presence is not required at this time, Vala Mal Doran,"

"But…" But nothing. One did not escape Teal'c's vise-like grip. With a pleading look to Landry, whose face remained impassive, the dark haired woman finally complied. When the others had filed out of the room, leaving only Landry and Jack, Hank put his hand on Jack's arm and the impassivity vanished.

"Let me know if you need me. I won't be far."

Jack murmured his thanks and sighed deeply once the door behind Hank had clanked shut. Pulling up the stool as close to the window as he could manage, he sat and waited.

_Daniel, the ship's computer recorded the whole conversation.. Thanks for your concern._

_Thanks for your concern? Is that what the damned Asgard computer translated it as? God. No wonder those guys never showed any emotion. Cloning was for crap, as far as he was concerned. Yeah, sure you got to get a whole new body from time to time, but what good was it if you didn't actually feel anything?_

_On the other hand, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all. Not to feel. To get rid of all emotions. So maybe you weren't quite human any more, but hey, at least the pain would be gone. If Carter were dead, and there was no reason to believe otherwise, then he'd sure as hell rather not feel anything. If he were actually conscious he probably would have puked. So maybe this wasn't so bad. Disembodied. Disconnected. Alive, but distant. Knowing there was anguish, but not actually feeling it the way he had so many times before._

_Except he wanted to feel it. Was that stupid, or what? To want to suffer? To feel the loss? Yeah. He wanted to feel it. What was the point of watching an orchestra play if you couldn't hear the music? And what was the point of caring about someone if you couldn't feel anything when they were gone? Better they had let him die, let the damned Ancient head-sucker finish sucking his brains out, than to know Carter was gone and not care except on some higher, intellectual level. Maybe that was what being ascended was like. Hell, no wonder Daniel wanted to come back. If that was the case, they could keep their ascension and the Asgard could keep their clones, and he just wanted to get back into his own body so he could know what it was like to be alive again. To feel…_

_…to feel the touch of her hand on his face._

_It was the last thing he remembered._

_Don't you dare give up now. We won. Please. Jack._

_Jack._

_Some part of his unaltered brain had registered this, clung to this. A thousand images popped into his mind. A mad jumble. The passionate, lustful kiss in the locker room. The gut-blow he'd felt when she started dating Pete. Nearly losing her to Niirti's mutant machine. Carter on his doorstep, trying to act casual, worry oozing off of her like perfume. Watching her kick-ass in a pool game. Giving Frasier's eulogy. Holding his hand as he was pinned to the gate room wall. Keeping him warm in Antarctica. Pleading with him to accept the Tok'ra symbiot. Sitting with her after Jolinar's death. Kissing her again and again on the day that would not end._

_We won. Please...Jack._

_Yeah. Good. Anubis was dead. Earth was safe. But Carter was dead. Not saving earth. Trying to save him._

_He knew, whenever he finally got back into his own body, that this was going to hurt like hell._

"General? General O'Neill?"

Jack jumped at the sound of the voice. It was Dr. Lam.

He fumbled for the microphone and clicked it on. Only then did he realize she was standing next to him, still in scrubs. Jack rose to his feet. A personal visit was never a good thing.

"How is she?" he managed, deciding he didn't want to glance through the window behind him. The image he feared might be lying on the table down there and the longer he could put off seeing it, the better.

"Well, I've managed to stabilize her. In some ways she was lucky. It missed her kidney but it did a number on her intestines. I had to remove a section and try to repair that side of if. We ran the bowel and it looks good, but when you're dealing with the intestines there's a million and one things that can go wrong, so we'll have to wait and see."

Lam was no-nonsense, just like her father. Jack appreciated that.

"So she'll be okay?"

Lam shook her head.

"She lost a lot of blood. I had to give her ten units. I've also had to repair her descending colon and remove her one ovary. And there was a great deal of tissue damage in the area due to the burning caused by the weapon. I've done everything I can at the moment. But I give her a slightly better than 50/50 odds that she'll pull through this."

He'd take those odds. Not like he had a choice.

"Can I see her?"

Lam's eyes narrowed.

"She'll be in recovery for several hours."

"I know."

Lam seemed to be weighing her next words. Finally she decided to come out with it.

"General, Sir—General Landry has made me aware of," she paused and then forged on. "Of your relationship with Colonel Carter. Under normal circumstances, I would only permit a family member in the recovery area, but I believe we can make an exception in this case."

Or be busted down to field corpsman, thought Jack. Aloud he merely replied: "Thank you. I'll be right there."

He needed a few moments to collect himself. Lam's words were just sinking in. He remembered how Sam's face had lit up when they'd talked about maybe having a kid. What if she couldn't…? Jack wiped his hand over his face and blew out a deep breath. Well, they'd just have to deal with that later. The first thing was to pull her through this. Beat those damn odds.

Squaring his shoulders, Jack took another deep breath and headed for recovery.

The moment she moaned, Jack sat up, alert. He squeezed her hand gently and waited for a response. It was a few seconds delayed in coming, but it came. Weakly. But at least it came.

"Hey," he said gently, brushing a stray strand of hair off her forehead. She looked so vulnerable laying there, almost like a child.

She seemed to have to force her eyes open and he could tell she was trying to put together where she was and what had happened. He squeezed her hand again.

"It's okay, Sam. You're safe. You're going to be okay."

Her eyes widened as full consciousness hit her and she tried to sit up. Jack gently held her in place.

"Easy," he told her softly.

"Jack?" she blinked, not quite sure of her vision, it seemed. "What happened?"

"From what Mitchell tells me, you had a little run-in with the Ori," he prompted her. She looked confused a moment and then her memory kicked in. She closed her eyes and winced.

"But hey, Doc Lam patched you up pretty good and in a while you'll be good as new." He tried plastering a smile on his face, hoping it didn't look as phony as it felt.

Sam opened her eyes and brought them into focus.

"Don't lie to me, Jack. How bad is it?"

Jack's smile faded.

"Pretty bad. Lam thinks she's got everything fixed, but they're worried. It was…it was touch and go for awhile."

Sam stared up at the ceiling.

"I thought I was going to die."

Me too, thought Jack. Aloud he said:

"Yeah, well you sure scared the shit out of Mitchell. I've hardly heard a peep out of the guy since I got here."

Sam turned her gaze to him, a slight rebuke in her voice.

"He saved my life, Jack. He got me back through the gate."

How'd he let you get shot in the first place? Jack wanted to say, but held his tongue.

"How're you feeling?" he asked instead.

"Like I got shot," she smiled weakly but he saw pain reflected in her eyes.

"So, pretty good, then, huh?"

She made a sound like a strangled laugh and then cringed in pain.

"Oh God does that hurt!"

"Hey, you should know better than to laugh at my jokes," Jack warned, hating to see the look on her face.

"You'd think I'd know better by now," she threw back at him, through gritted teeth. Jack tried to smile, but didn't manage it very well.

"Jack…" she whispered, suddenly somber. She squeezed his hand. "Listen…."

"Sam…don't," he tried to stop her. "You're going to be fine."

"If I don't…if I'm not…." her eyes sought his and Jack couldn't look away. "I want you to know…I don't regret a thing. Not a single thing."

"Sam…" he choked on her name. There was a lump as big as his fist lodged in his throat.

"It's okay, Jack. I just wish we'd had more time," she smiled, her eyes shining.

Jack looked down and shook his head.

"Damn it, Sam." he whispered. God, he hated this! There were so many things he wanted to tell her, but absolutely nothing would come out of his mouth.

Sam squeezed his hand and he looked up.

"At least I got to see you. I told Cam…there are letters. One for Cassie. You. Daniel."

Jack cringed. She couldn't be saying these things. He wouldn't let her. He did the only thing he could think of. He pulled rank.

"Listen, Carter. Knock it off, and that's an order. None of this dying crap, okay? You'll be fine. Out there kicking some Ori butt in no time at all. Just…don't give up here, you understand?"

He saw her smile as she closed her eyes.

"An order, sir?"

"That's right, Colonel. Now get some rest. That's an order too."

"Yes, sir. On one condition."

"What's that?"

Her eyes opened for a moment.

"You'll stay?"

"Wild equines could not dislodge me," he assured her.

Satisfied, Sam closed her eyes and slept. Jack sighed. It had worked. At least for the moment, it had staved off the dark specter that had intruded on them.

Now if he could only keep the damn thing from coming back.

_The sounds coming from the Russian colonel were unearthly. A watery death rattle of someone drowning in their own body. He and Carter turned, a sickening feeling curdling through him. Alebrand had made the same ungodly sound before bursting into a puddle back at the SGC. Damn Niirti to hell. He should have killed her when he had a chance. See, that was the trouble. How could a guy try to keep some degree of honor about himself when a Goa'uld would take that honor and screw him with it the first chance she got? You couldn't trust a snakehead as far as you could throw him. Just ask the Russian colonel._

_Or not. The horror on Carter's face was what he felt on the inside. Where Colonel Evanov had been seconds ago, nothing remained now except a soaked uniform and an oozing puddle on the ledge and surrounding floor. His gut had to school itself to keep from vomiting, while he tried to keep the fear off his face so Carter wouldn't see. She was next. She'd been to Niirti's little shop of horrors and in a few hours or even maybe a few minutes, she would…._

_No. He wouldn't let it happen. When they brought Jonas back they'd have no choice but to take him next. He didn't know what he'd do, but there had to be something. Some way to bargain Niirti for the fix for Carter—yeah, and Jonas too, probably. If not, then maybe he could ring it out of her with his bare hands…not that her bunch of Jaffa and mutants would ever let him get that close to her. Still, he'd try. He'd try anything._

_Next to him, Carter was shaking. He'd ordered her to rest and it was a measure of her fear that she had leaned against his shoulder to comply. Now, in the wake of the Russian puddle behind them, even that comfort seemed insufficient._

_Come on , Carter. I told you to rest._

_S-s-sorry, s-sir._

_Her teeth were chattering and she had taken on an unhealthy pallor. God. He had to do something. Fast. Except that Jonas wasn't coming back yet. He wasn't exactly sure what that meant. Jonas had Daniel's knack for talking to people, so maybe he'd been able to reach one of Niirti's victims. Make him see that she was not the life-saving goddess they thought she was. Or maybe it just meant that Niirti was taking a little longer than before for God knew what reason. In either case, time was running out for Carter._

_Come here, he told her. Still shaking she hesitated for a moment and then leaned against him once more. This time he put his arm around her, half holding her while the trembling convulsed her whole body. Teal'c nodded slightly, his own concern radiating off the big Jaffa like heat, before turning away to study the doorway of his cage, probably trying to devise his own way out of here._

_S-s-sir. If I don't make…_

_No talking, Carter. Just…rest._

_She shook her head as she raised it to meet his eyes. God, he hated what he saw there. It chilled him to his very soul._

_I just want you to tell my dad…_

_Stop it, all right? We'll figure a way out of this. You're going to be okay._

_She said nothing more but he saw her glance at the drying puddle behind them. Then nodding, she lay her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes._

"General?"

Jack pulled up, sharp. He hadn't heard anyone come up behind him. It was Lam, chart in hand.

"Yeah. Sorry. I must have drifted off there." He looked at Sam. She was asleep. "How's she doing?"

Lam studied the chart.

"So far, so good. We're pumping her full of antibiotics, trying to keep any infection at bay. And I've got her on a pretty heavy sedative for the pain, so I wouldn't expect a whole lot of lucid conversation. Other than that, we just have to wait and see."

Jack studied Sam's face. If it weren't for the paleness about her lips, she would have looked absolutely normal. Peacefully sleeping, just as she looked every night as he studied her face in the darkness when his own sleep wouldn't come and too much of the galaxy weighed heavy on his mind.

"How long until we know…anything?"

Lam checked a monitor and scribbled down some notes in the chart before answering Jack.

"We'll give it twenty-four hours. If she's doing okay then, I'd say she's out of the woods. Let's just keep our fingers crossed."

Jack nodded, his eyes fixed on Sam. Twenty-four hours. He knew it wasn't cast in stone, but at least it gave him a goal.

"You should get some rest, sir," Lam added. "She's going to be out for some time. She won't even know you're here.

But I will, thought Jack. Aloud he said:

"Thanks, but I'll be fine."

Lam nodded, seeming to understand.

"I'll be back to check on her in a hour. If she's doing okay, we'll move her to a room."

Jack nodded absently. Twenty-four hours. She would make it. He would insist on it.

_Absolutely not._

_Jack…._

_I don't want to hear it._

_You're being unreasonable._

_Really? And exactly what part of all this do you find unreasonable? Not wanting you back on the front line or not wanting you anywhere near that slime-sucking, snake-headed piece of…._

_Both._

_Both._

_Jack—it's what I do._

_Ah-ah! It's what you _did._ You're out of all that now. Like me. Remember._

_Mitchell's in over his head. I mean, he's a smart guy, and his instincts are good…._

_Which is exactly why Landry and I put him in charge of SG-1._

_But he hasn't got the experience, Jack. He needs help._

_Daniel and Teal'c will give him all the help he needs. I need you at Area 51, Sam. If these Orbs…_

_Ori…_

…_are as big a threat as Daniel believes they are, we're going to need something to fight them with. And I'm thinking, from your reports on the super gate, that a big, honkin' space gun isn't going to do the trick this time._

_Probably not._

_See? We need brains on this, not brawn. Not…not that you don't have both…but we need to out-think these guys, not out-fight them._

_No._

_No?_

_I mean, yes, we do need to come up with some alternate means of fighting them, but I don't think I'm going to come up with it sitting in isolation in Area 51. I need to get out there, see what's happening. Understand it. _

_Jack blew out a deep breath and squeezed his temples with the heels of his hands._

_Okay. Fine. Whatever. You want to go back to the SGC, then go. Go. Go._

_I, uh, need orders._

_Fine. They'll be on Landry's desk in the morning. Consider yourself reassigned._

_She looked away for a moment and then looked back at him._

_What?_

_There's one more thing…_

_He waited. The pained look on her face should have warned him._

_Us._

_Uh-oh. He didn't care much for where this seemed to be heading. _

_What about us?_

_If I go back to the SGC…well, you'll be my superior officer again. Air Force regulations…._

_Oh screw the regulations!_

_Jack, we can't just ignore them._

_Sure we can. I do it all the time. Do you know how many memos I ever actually read?_

_He saw a slight smile tug at the corner of her lips, but it was fleeting._

_Seriously, Jack. We may…._

_What? _

_We may have to put our relationship on hold for a while._

_Like hell!_

_Jack…_

_Sam…?_

_I'm just saying…it could get complicated._

_Complicated makes my head hurt, Sam. I'll make it simple. Landry's your superior officer, not me. You don't report to me directly, so, no conflict. End of discussion._

_That's…that's deceptively simple, Jack._

_Yes! And therein lies its beauty!_

_I'm just not sure it works that way._

_Well, unless or until someone tells me otherwise, we'll assume it does. It's always easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission, I always say._

_I'm not sure the Air Force is going to…._

_Sam! Sam…unless I'm being really dense here and you're looking for a way to end this…_

_God, no!_

_Then accept that this is how we're going to play it. I'll clue Landry in, so he doesn't think you're doing end runs around his command. Unless of course, you want to reconsider rejoining the SGC._

_That sounds like blackmail._

_I can play dirty if I have to. Remember, I'm at the Pentagon now._

_Fine. We'll…just keep it quiet, then._

_Good plan. _

_Jack had a thought._

_You have seniority over Mitchell, you know. Landry should put you in charge of SG-1._

_Sam shook her head._

_No. It's better if Cam stays in command. That way no one can accuse you of anything improper. If I come back and take over it's going to look…well, it won't look good._

_You sure? I mean, you were in command of SG-1 for a whole year. No one's going to think anything different if you pick up where you left off._

_Hey, don't get me wrong. I appreciate the rank, and the pay and the parking space…but I really don't want to be in charge of anything._

_She had moved into his arms, her lips dangerously close to his, but she broke into a grin when she saw him recognize his own disclaimer thrown back at him._

_Yeah. Well. Just don't make me regret this._

_She moved in for the kiss._

_Never._

Jack wiped his face and gave his head a shake. This day-dreaming wouldn't do. He couldn't undo what he'd done—or hadn't done. And he'd learned long ago that living in the past just kept your guts in a perpetual state of acid reflux. Sam had wanted to come back, and he'd let her. End of story. The only reason she'd ever wanted to quit in the first place was because of him. Damn. This had all seemed so much easier that night back at the cabin. Retirement. A Replicator-free, nearly Goa'uld free galaxy. All he had to worry about was whether he'd interpreted her break-up with Pete correctly. How the hell did he know there were worse things out there than snake-heads and technology piranhas? And why the hell, just once, couldn't someone else save the galaxy for a change?

It was rhetorical and he knew it. There was no one else. No one smarter at this stuff than Sam. No one more committed or more experienced than SG-1. They were the front line against the Ori, and as much as Jack hated it, he couldn't deny it.

"Dad?"

The murmured word had come from Sam but her eyes were still closed.

"No…don't. Dad!"

Her eyes flew open and she stared wildly around the room, finally lighting on Jack's face.

"Colonel, have you seen my dad?"

Jack creased his brow. Must be the morphine.

"Jacob's not here, Carter," he answered quietly. Unfocused eyes bore into him.

"Tell him I really need to see him, will you?"

Jack patted her arm reassuringly.

"Yeah. Sure thing."

Sam seemed to visibly relax and closed her eyes again. Jack eyed the monitor. Her heart rate had elevated slightly, but now seemed to be settling back to normal. He watched her steady breathing for a few more moments and then sank back into the chair. He'd hate to think what things he'd come out with under such a heavy sedative. Special Ops training had built into him a lot of self-restraint, but when it came to drugs, there was really very little defense.

At least she hadn't asked for Pete.

"Jack?"

He sat bolt upright. Her eyes were open again. Clear and focused.

"Hey," he answered, moving from the chair to the edge of the bed, careful to not disturb the bandaged side that hid her terrible wounds.

"Where am I?" she asked trying to look around.

"Still in recovery. But Lam's going to spring you to your own room in about a half an hour, if you behave yourself."

She rubbed her eyes with a hand that was invaded by iv tubes and a pulse-ox monitor.

"Must have been dreaming. I thought my dad was here."

"Sorry. Just me."

She smiled wanly.

"You'll do," she told him. Looking around again she asked "Anything to drink?"

"Ah!" replied Jack, reaching for the bed table. "Doc was kind enough to order you up a giant bucket of ice here. 2007. I hear it's a very good year."

Sam took some of the ice chips, but shook her head when Jack offered more.

"Too cold," she told him. "Don't much care for ice."

"Yeah. Me either. Once you've been buried in it a couple of times, the novelty kinda wears off."

He saw her wince.

"You okay?"

Sam shook her head.

"Hurts like hell," she admitted with a groan that Jack felt down to his toes.

"I'll get Lam," Jack said, starting to rise, but Sam reached for his hand and tried feebly to stop him.

"No—she'll just up the dose, and I don't want to go back to sleep. Not yet."

He sat back down, gingerly, on the edge of the bed.

"Sure."

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"I don't remember much. Did it work? Did we get the village back out of phase?"

Typical Sam.

"Yeah, it worked. You got them all shifted before the Ori blasted the village. Everyone's safe."

"Teal'c? Vala?"

"Hovering in the hallways, worried about you. I pulled rank, though, and got to come in."

"Any news on Daniel?"

Jack shook his head.

"No. But that doesn't mean I'm counting him out yet. You know Daniel. More lives than an Egyptian cat."

She was becoming more alert now.

"I've got to perfect that device, Jack. It's the only way we have of protecting people from the Ori."

"Yeah. Well. Plenty of time for that."

At least she wasn't talking about dying anymore. That was a good sign. Now, if only her body would listen.

Sam closed her eyes and was quiet for several minutes. Jack thought she had drifted back to sleep.

"I miss him, you know," she said quietly, unexpectedly. Jack felt a hollowness in his gut.

"Who?" he tried to ask casually.

Her eyes opened. He saw pain that had nothing to do with the giant gash in her side.

"My dad. My dream…it was so real. It was like he was standing right there."

They both looked at an empty space at the side of the bed, as if expecting Jacob Carter to magically materialize in front of them.

"Yeah. I miss Jacob too. Even Selmak, though I swear, I'll have to shoot you if you tell anyone that."

"Your secret's safe," she murmured, her eyes closing again. Jack watched her for a while and this time she really had gone back to sleep.

_I wondered when you were finally going to make it up here._

_Sorry—I had stuff…_

_Save it, Jack. I'm just glad you came._

_So…nothing to do? Not even the Tok'ra, with all their high-falutin'…_

_Jack…_

_Yeah. Right. So…anything I can get you? Anything I can do?_

_Yes, there is. I want you to sit there and listen to me._

_Jack pulled up a stool and complied._

_Look, Jacob. If this is about the Tok'ra/Earth alliance…._

_I'm dying, Jack. Selmak is already dead. What happens between Earth and the Tok'ra is out of my hands now. I have bigger fish to fry at the moment._

_Okay…I'm listening._

_It's Sam._

_Jack studied his hands._

_Look, Jacob…_

_Shut up and let me talk, will you? She's making a mistake and we both know it._

_Do we?_

_Damn it, Jack. I haven't got the time or the energy for this little tap dance. I know how she feels about you. It's written all over her face every time she's in the same room with you. What I want to know is, does it go both ways?_

_I'm her commanding officer, Jacob._

_Oh come on, Jack. Cut the crap. Forget the Air Force, the SGC, the ranks, the chain of command—do you love my daughter?_

_It's not that simple…_

_Yes or no?_

_There was a long pause._

_Yes._

_Good._

_No. Not good. It doesn't change anything, Jacob. She's still going to marry Pete, and there's nothing either of us can do about it because the simple fact is, there is the Air Force, there is the SGC, we have our ranks and there is a chain of command. I can't just wish that all away because I feel like it._

_Yes, you can. You can retire. Simple solution. _

_Oh. Very simple. I think that symbiote toxin is going to your brain, Jacob._

_As a matter of fact, it is. And I'm running out of time, which is why I have to be so blunt._

_Unlike all the other times…?_

_You know Jack, when I first met you, I thought you were a smart-ass._

_And now that you know me better?_

_I still think you're a smart-ass. I just regret that I won't live to see you be my son-in-law. Family gatherings would sure have been entertaining._

_Look—seriously, Jacob…._

_I am serious, Jack. You and Sam are both fools if you let all this stand in the way of your happiness. Trust me. Life's too short. Look, I know you've lost a lot already—more than most people ever do. But you don't have to punish yourself for the rest of your life. I don't have to be a shrink to know why you risk your life again and again. You think you have to atone for what happened to your son. Well, on behalf of the great Cosmic scale of justice, Jack, I absolve you of your sins. So if you care about Sam, and if she cares about you even half as much as I think she does, don't lose that, Jack. Hang on to it. It's more precious than you can ever imagine._

_So why aren't you telling her all this stuff?_

_She's too stubborn to hear it. And too proud._

_Gee—I wonder where she gets that from._

_Jacob fixed him with an indulgent look._

_Okay—so, maybe there's some truth in all of this. But it doesn't change anything, Jacob. I want the same thing for her that you do: for her to be happy. If she thinks she's found that with Pete there, what business do I have getting in the way?_

_Plenty of business, if you love her._

_Jacob…_

_Look, Jack. I'm dying here. So I'm only going to say this once. If you really care about my daughter, you'll keep her from making the biggest mistake of her life. I won't be here to do it, so I'm counting on you._

Jack looked at Sam's still-pale face and was glad, for once, that Jacob was no longer around. Hard as it was for him to deal with Sam being constantly in harm's way, it had to be even harder when it was your own kid out there. Jacob had usually managed to restrain himself during Sam's missions. Years of military training did that. But a dad was a dad, and Jack still had a few scars on his butt from chewing-outs Jacob had given him when he thought Jack hadn't done his best to keep her safe. Yeah. He hated to think what Jacob would have done to him for this.

Probably what Jack felt like doing to Mitchell. Except he couldn't. Mitchell had been doing his job, just like Sam had been doing hers. Not to mention that Mitchell's more than passable job at field dressing, by Lam's account, had probably saved Sam's life. So as irked as he was at Mitchell, he couldn't hold his actions against him. He knew Sam wouldn't.

"How's she doing?"

Jack looked up to see Lam approaching again from across the room.

"She woke up once."

Lam checked the machines.

"Was she lucid?"

"Not at first. But then she seemed to know what was going on . She asked about the mission."

Lam nodded approvingly.

"Well, her vitals are looking okay. I think it's safe to move her to some place more private. You going to stick around or…"

"Yeah. I'll stay."

Lam nodded understandingly.

"Well. I'll get some orderlies in here and we'll get her taken care of."

Jack allowed a slight smile of satisfaction to find a corner of his mouth. One hour down. Twenty-three to go.

Jack hadn't realized he'd dozed until he felt himself jerk awake as the door behind him clicked open. Turning he saw the silhouette of a young woman standing in the doorway, seeming uncertain as to whether to enter or not. Jack blinked in the semi-darkness. It was Cassie.

"Jack?"

"Hey, Cass. Come on in."

She stepped hesitantly forward, still holding onto the door and looking for all the world like she wanted to bolt. Jack wasn't sure whether her grip on the door was to keep herself from taking off or to keep the path of retreat open and available.

He saw her glance briefly at Sam and something crossed her face that stabbed at his heart. Sam was all she had left.

"General Landry called me. He said…" her voice broke slightly. "I came as soon as I could."

"Come on in," Jack invited, standing up and offering her the chair that felt as if it had become permanently attached to his posterior. She didn't budge.

"Cass…?"

Fear turned into panic. He caught up with her in the outside hall.

"Whoa there! What's going on?" It required some effort to get her to stop and turn around. She wouldn't meet his gaze.

"I…I can't do this, Jack. Not again."

Jack sighed. He was no good at this. All this emotion stuff was Sam's area. Still, he'd have to try.

"Look, Cass…" He rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe it would loosen up some words in his brain. "I really suck at this," he muttered. "Okay…I know it looks bad. But Doc Lam says…."

"It's me, isn't it. I'm a curse, or a jinx or something."

"What? Don't be ridiculous! Of course you're not!"

"Yes, I am! First my whole planet, my parents—then my mom—Janet—gets shot by some Jaffa—and now Sam…." She choked. "I'm bad news, Jack. So maybe you should just stay away from me. Maybe everyone should." She pulled her arm loose and walked away.

"Aw geez!" Jack grumbled, deciding he better go after her. Sam would want her here and she would be very upset with him if he let Cassie go off under these circumstances. It had taken Sam a lot of love and a great deal of patience to steer Cassie back on the right track after Fraser had died. Jack knew if he let her go now, all of that effort would have been wasted.

He caught up with her at the elevator. The comfort-approach wasn't going to work here, which was fine with Jack. Offering comfort was the thing he did least well. Cassie's face was as dark as a storm cloud as she pushed the button repeatedly, trying to get the elevator to move faster.

No. No comforting words for Cassie. She was afraid, and unlike himself, who tended to cover up his fear with sarcasm, Cassie had become very adept at turning hers into anger. So. The best approach, Jack figured, was to give that anger some place to go. Then maybe he could talk some sense into her.

"So. You're just going to run away again, huh?" He stuck his hands in his pockets and stepped in front of her.

"Leave me alone," she growled at him.

"Like you did last time, right?"

"I don't want to talk to you." She studiously avoided looking at him. Jack rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Yeah. I don't blame you. Why face up to your problems when it's easier to run from them. Find a few illegal substances to make you forget all about them. Makes life much simpler that way."

"I don't do that any more," she told him icily.

"Really."

"Really," she repeated, with a certain finality. Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Oh. That's right. And that would be, why? Because someone actually cared enough about you to come find you the last time? To bring you home? Get you in rehab? Maybe even keep loving you, in spite of all the awful things you said to her? All the times you betrayed her trust?"

Cassie pounded the call button furiously, but Jack could see tears streaming down her face, even though she still refused to look at him. He figured he better push a little harder.

"And would that happen to be the very same person who's lying in that room back there, fighting for her life? The person you won't even go see because you think it's all about you?"

She whirled on him.

"I'm bad luck, Jack! God! Don't you see? If I leave—maybe she'll get better! I'm getting out of here to help her!"

"Oh for cryin' out loud! That's a bunch of crap, Cass! And you know it. Now, I'm sorry for what's happened to you. No kid should have to have gone through what you did! And I don't deny, one of the happiest days of my life was watching Niirti's head get snapped clean around. But through all of this, Cass, you've never been alone. You've had people who care about you trying to help you every step of the way. And one of those people—in fact, the person who's been there from the very first moment we found you—is Sam. She loves you, Cass. Like her own daughter. And you owe her—_owe her_—to get back there and see her!"

The elevator announced its arrival with a loud _ping_ and the doors slid back. Jack waited. Cassie's breaths were coming in great heaving gasps as she faced the waiting car. After seconds that dragged for minutes, the elevator pinged again and the doors slowly slid shut. Cassie continued to stand there, not moving.

"Come on," said Jack, quietly. Cassie looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, and he nodded in the direction of the hallway that would take them back to Sam's room. She didn't move.

"I'm…afraid," she half-whispered.

"Yeah," answered Jack, putting his arm around her shoulder. "Me too."

Together they made their way back to the semi-dark room, lit by a bank of monitors and machines that would have made Dr. Frankenstein proud.

Jack felt Cassie tense for a moment, but then she drew away from his support and went over to the bed. Leaning over she kissed Sam's forehead and reached for her hand.

"Hey, Sam. It's me—Cassie." She glanced uncertainly at Jack, who nodded his encouragement. She turned back to Sam. "You've gotta get better, okay? Guess what? They approved my credits that I transferred from Nevada and I get to graduate this spring. You have to be there, Sam. I could never have done it without you. I need you to be there. Okay?"

Sam gave no indication of having heard her and Cassie looked worriedly back at Jack. It had been over three hours since Sam was last awake. Lam said not to expect too much, so he hadn't. Still, Cassie had obviously been expecting some kind of response.

"You can tell her again later," Jack assured her.

Cassie looked at the chair.

"Can I stay for a while?"

"Yeah—sure. I'll go find another…" Cassie interrupted him.

"If…if you want to go and get some lunch or something…"

Lunch?

"What time is it?" Jack checked his watch. It showed 2:45.

"I mean…don't take this the wrong way, Jack…but you look like you could maybe use a break."

Jack looked from Cassie to Sam. He didn't want to leave. Didn't want her to wake up and not find him there. Didn't want to not be there in case.… Still. He couldn't deny that his stomach was protesting. The last thing he remembered eating was a two day old burrito that morning for breakfast. And that had been yesterday. He hadn't even thought about food until now, and he realized he was starving.

"That good, huh?" he replied to Cassie's remark. He indicated the door with his thumb. "As long as you're here, maybe I'll go hit the mess. I won't be gone long. Press that thingy there if you need the doc. And call me if…if there's any change, okay?"

Cassie settled herself in the chair, her hand still holding Sam's.

"I will. And Jack?"

He paused half-way through the door. She turned and met his eyes.

"Thanks."

He smiled at her. She was a good kid. Sam had gotten her back on the right track.

"Any time," he replied, and headed for the commissary.

"May I join you, O'Neill?"

Jack looked up into Teal'c's ever-youthful face and was relieved to see he was alone. He'd been afraid that Mitchell and that Vala-woman would try to join him as he ate, so he had tried to hide in the corner of the mess, out of sight from anyone who might glance into the mostly empty dining room.

"Sit," he replied, gesturing to the chair across from him. On his plate was a half-eaten piece of meatloaf, generously slathered in barbeque sauce. It wouldn't have been Jack's first choice of an entrée, but it was all that was left at this late hour and he had picked at it, realizing with each bite that maybe his stomach wasn't as eager for food as he had first imagined.

Teal'c gave him a dignified nod and planted himself gracefully in the too small chair. If anything Teal'c looked even stronger than the last time Jack had seen him.

"How is Colonel Carter doing?"

Well, Jack had to know that was coming.

"Doctor Lam says it's wait and see. For the moment, she's doing okay."

"I am relieved to hear it. I will pass this on to Colonel Mitchell and Vala Mal Doran. They have been most anxious to see her, but General Landry has forbidden it."

Gotta love Hank.

"Cassie's with her now. It's a while since she's been awake."

He could feel the big Jaffa's eyes on him, but he refused to look up, instead pushing around some mashed potatoes on his plate. Finally he couldn't take it any more.

"What?" he asked, more irritated than he had intended. Teal'c, however, did not appear to take offense.

"And how are you doing, O'Neill."

The question took Jack aback. It reminded him of the time Sam had been lost with the Prometheus for several days, and any effort they had made to figure out where the ship was had been met with failure.

"Look, T…"

"I cannot help but have noticed, O'Neill, that your relationship with Colonel Carter has become…more personal in the past several years. Therefore I imagine that this is a particularly difficult time for you."

So the big guy knew. Maybe everybody did. Maybe theirs was the worst-kept secret at Stargate Command.

"Ya know, Teal'c…we've been doing our best to kinda keep this quiet. With the Air Force, and everything…well, it gets complicated."

Teal'c nodded.

"Indeed. Do not worry, O'Neill. I would never reveal your secret. In fact, I would never have even suspected anything, had not Daniel Jackson made mention of it."

Daniel! Blabber-mouth.

"And that was only because he assumed I already knew."

Jack wasn't sure, but he thought he detected a note of hurt feelings in Teal'c's voice. After all, Teal'c had been—still was—his best friend, even though the Washington job made getting together a bit of a challenge—especially when he tried to spend what time he had with Sam. But, it occurred to him, he should have told Teal'c. The Jaffa would have died before spilling the beans to anyone, and Jack should have known that.

"I'm sorry, T. Really. I should have told you. I guess I figured you wouldn't really care."

Teal'c regarded him with his dark eyes and only then did Jack glimpse the pain of the betrayal he had caused by not letting him in on their secret.

"You are my closest friend, O'Neill. And Colonel Carter—I carry a deep affection for her as well. Anything that brings either of you happiness or sorrow is of great concern to me."

Jack felt about as small as the errant pea that had rolled off his plate.

"In fact, it has always been my fondest wish that you and Colonel Carter would someday find a way to express your true feelings to each other."

Jack looked up surprised.

"Why T—you old romantic, you!"

The Jaffa gifted him with a slight smile.

"Finding one's _amat'du_ is a rare and wondrous gift."

"_I'm a who_?"

"_Amat'du_," repeated Teal'c. "It means, 'piece of one's heart'. I believe the closest you have in your world is 'soul mate'."

"Ah." At least that he understood. Well. Not exactly. He'd never been clear on that whole 'soul mate' thing. He'd always figured that was for poets and love-sick teenage girls to mess with. Watching Teal'c grow misty over the whole concept, though, made him wonder if he hadn't better pay a little more attention. Sure, Jaffa tended to get a tad more worked up over many aspects of life that Jack was just as willing to let slide, but there was a real longing look on Teal'c's face.

And maybe that explained why Jack felt like he did. That if anything happened to Sam, a whole big part of him would just want to curl up and die with her.

_Amat'du_, huh? Piece of one's heart. Yeah. Sam was a piece of his. A very big one. Too big to live without.

_The hypodermic in his hand was cold to the touch, despite the fact that he'd been fiddling with it, passing it from hand to hand, for quite some time now. But then, everything was cold. The hypo, the room, the sound of the ventilator, the dim lights, his soul…_

_Whhhhht. Shhhhh._

_Whhhhht. Shhhhh._

_Carter's chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm with the sound. The machine keeping her alive in absolute precision._

_Except it wasn't Carter. Carter was dead. That's what that other machine showed. The one with the flat line that Fraiser told him meant there was no brain activity whatsoever. Not a blip. Not a bump. Nothing. The brilliant mind, the smile that could light up a room, the sense of humor—gone. Only this beautiful shell remaining, blood flowing, lungs filling and emptying, for no purpose._

_Except that he wasn't ready to let her go._

_Fraiser had come in. Reminded him about Carter's living will. _

_Give it a minute, huh?_

_She'd backed off. She was Carter's friend too. Hell, this probably was no easier for her than for him._

_But then Fraiser hadn't killed her._

_He had._

_One shot stuns. Two shots kills. Three shots…._

_He should've just pulled the trigger a third time. Saved her from this. Saved them all from this._

_But his hand had been shaking too badly. He'd barely gotten the second one off. Hesitating, uncertain if he could do it._

_But he'd had to. _

_It wouldn't give Carter back. It wouldn't leave. It had tried to kill them._

_He'd had to._

_But it was the second worst thing he'd ever done in his life._

_The hypo was still cold in his hand, as he rolled it back and forth. _

Give it a minute, huh?

_Fraiser had let him be. But she hovered. She had orders, from Carter herself, no less, to end this, sooner than later._

_Fine. Then let it end. The sooner, he supposed, the better. Then he could do the only thing he could think of to do._

_The small vial was already in his pocket. He'd palmed it off a tray when no one had been around._

_Probably quicker than a mission to Abydos. Definitely less messy than a bullet through the head. They might even think it was natural, at first. But Fraiser would get to the bottom of it, and then they'd know. Hell, they'd probably even understand. At least he figured Daniel would. _

_There was only so much loss a man could inflict upon himself. Only so many important people he could take out of his life, before that life had no value. He'd been down this road once before. Daniel—and those kids on Abydos—they'd pulled him back. But this was a second time down the same damn path. And this time his hand had been literally on the trigger. _

_He could almost feel the weight of her head against his shoulder, tired, sweaty, confused by what they'd begun to remember. A slight giggle at his oh-too-lame joke. How right it had felt to be there together, knowing that somehow they belonged to each other, if only he could remember._

_And the cold splash of reality when memory finally did kick in._

_Colonel._

_Major._

_Yes, sir._

_Sir…_

_If ever his rank sounded to him like a vulgar word._

_Instant wall. Instant separation. Instant aloneness. Again._

_They'd kept their distance a while after that. Too much had been said; the invisible line nearly crossed. An awkward awareness that had only now begun to dissipate._

_Too late._

_He didn't know if he believed in a life after death or not. Too many damn false gods had trotted past his P90 site-line in the past five years. But maybe, if he had time to think about it, he did. Of course, with all the things he'd done in his life, he'd probably only get to wave at Carter as he took an express elevator down to the basement level. Hellfire and brimstone. No waiting. Didn't Dante have a special level in Hell for guys who killed the people they loved and then killed themselves? Couldn't wait. Still. It probably wasn't any more than he deserved. Eternal damnation he could take. Living with the knowledge of what he'd done, he couldn't._

_Not this time._

_Whhhhht. Shhhhh._

_Whhhhht. Shhhhh._

_He heard footsteps in the hallway. Heavy treads. Two people. One reluctant; the other, determined. Shadows across the doorway, adding to the gloom. Daniel and Teal'c. Come to say their good-byes. To be there when Fraiser pulled the damned plug._

_Red lights blared. But not on the monitors. _

_SG-1 to the MALP Room._

_He was off like a shot. Anything. Anything to postpone this moment. _

_A few days later, he'd smuggled the vial back. With luck, no one had noticed it was gone. And even if they did, they never mentioned it. He always figured Fraiser had known, though. If so, she'd kept he secret. He really should have thanked her. But it was too late for that now._

Alarms wailing around him. Jack leapt to his feet. Lights were flashing. A running of feet outside the door. Lam pushing past him, a couple of others in her wake.

"What is it? What's going on?"

He finally thought to look at Sam. She was ashen white, her back arched, great convulsions racking her body.

Jack ran his fingers through his hair and stepped back to let Lam and her minions do their work.

Medical jargon flew around him. Words he barely heard, couldn't comprehend.

Jack couldn't think. He couldn't move. He could only watch, not even understanding what it was he was seeing. The entire scene seemed to move in excruciatingly slow motion, Lam talking to him like through some kind of funnel. And never once did he take his eyes off Sam, her hair matted with sweat, her face contorted by muscles she did not control. Everything else was distant, background….

"General!"

Jack had the sense Lam had spoken to him already. Now she had his attention. He blinked at the woman.

"I need to take her back to surgery. Now."

Jack nodded vaguely, still watching Sam. They were unhooking her from the bank of monitors, switching her IVs to the bed poles. The bed brake snapped off and the side bars went up. Two seconds later they were wheeling her through the door and a second after that he stood alone, in an empty room, with only the dull monotone of disconnected monitors droning him company. Jamming his hands in his pocket he slowly set out in their wake, heading, once again, for the observation room.

_Hey._

_Hey._

_Her blue eyes smiled at him. They were filled with such tenderness it surprised him. A lump gathered in his throat._

_You're leaving me, aren't you? He asked her._

_Why would I do that?_

_Because you're going to die._

_Someday. But not today._

_No?_

_She smiled again and shook her head. Her blond hair glowed as if its very strands were made of light._

_No._

_Somehow he felt reassured._

_When you die, do I get to go too?_

_We all have to find our own path, Jack._

_She glowed more. She reminded him of…_

…_Daniel._

_A new panic raced through him._

_You're not going to do that ascension thing, are you?_

_She smiled again._

_Not this time._

_Relief spread over him like sunshine. Or maybe it was the light from her hair._

_So—you coming back, or what?_

_Yeah. I've still got work to do. A galaxy to save. You know._

_Getting old yet?_

_She shook her head._

_Nope._

_Good. Cuz I really need you._

_You or the galaxy?_

_Both, actually. But mostly me. I think._

_She grinned. _

_I know. Don't worry. I'll be around for a long while yet. You will too._

"Jack?"

The voice was dry. Not warm and rich like the dream. The throat sounded parched. As if maybe a few too many plastic tubes had made their way down it in the past couple of days or so.

Jack raised his head off his arms and blinked, momentarily lost. A bed. Dim lights. The steady beep of a cardiac monitor. Sam. Awake.

Awake.

"What happened to you?" she murmured.

Jack felt his chin and realized he had a few days growth of beard on it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd shaved.

"Been a little busy," he replied. She smiled tiredly.

"Yeah. Me too."

"You kidding? Goldbricking in this bed for" he squinted at his watch. "Four days? Landry wanted to put you on report, but I said, hey. You know. She did save yet another planet. So he cut you some slack."

Sam closed her eyes.

"'Preciate it," she sighed.

Jack reached for her hand. It was cool to the touch, no longer raging with the fever that had wracked her body for the past three days. Lam had found the source of the infection during the second surgery, but it had taken until now to see if Sam's body had the resources to mount an adequate defense.

And now she was awake. Exhausted, and looking like she'd come through her own personal hell, but awake. And alive. Jack covered her hand with both of his, and Sam opened her eyes again.

"Sorry," she apologized. "Kinda drifted off there."

"You're allowed," he told her. "Your fever broke about six hours ago. Doc says you'll be fine. But you need your rest."

"Like I haven't heard that before."

"Yeah. Well, this time we mean it."

Their eyes met and Jack could tell she knew he wasn't joking.

" I…I was so scared, Jack." Her eyes swam and she looked away briefly, trying to compose herself. "I was dying. And there were so many things I wanted to do…so many things I wanted to tell you. And then…it was like I could see you, but I couldn't talk to you. I was standing right next to you, but you didn't even know I was there."

Shivers went through Jack. Time for humor again.

"You didn't see any big, glowy blobs, did you?"

"Jack—I'm serious." She sounded hurt. He hung his head, regretting his attempt at levity.

"Yeah. I know. It's just…" he looked up and met her eyes again. "Well, it scares the crap out of me when you tell me this stuff. I don't even want to think how close…." He couldn't finish.

"Me neither."

They were silent for a few moments. Jack focused on the pale, tube-encrusted hand he held. Finally he glanced at Sam. Her eyes were closed again. He sighed and pressed her hand against his cheek. A smile ghosted her face and her eyes opened. God, he could look at those eyes all day.

Something occurred to him. He'd had Beatrice overnight him the package from his desk drawer when he thought…well, he didn't have to think that anymore. He dug down into the pocket of his green overshirt and pulled out a small blue box.

"I believe I promised you something a while ago that I hadn't gotten around to delivering yet."

He pressed the little box into her hand and waited. It was a measure of how frail she was when he saw her struggle to pry the lid backward. Finally he reached forward and did it for her, turning the box so she could see the contents.

Her eyes widened and her brows shot up in surprise.

"Oh my God! Jack…?"

"Better than an old Academy ring, huh?"

He hoped she was speechless because she liked it. Taking it out of the box he handed it to her.

"Check out the engraving on the inside. I think the jeweler thought I belonged to some kinda cult or something."

He watched as Sam took the ring and studied the tiny marks on the inner surface. Her eyes lit up in recognition.

"It's the gate address for Earth!" she said in disbelief.

Jack took the ring back.

"So you'll always be able to find your way home," he told her, hoping it didn't sound too corny. It hadn't when he'd thought of it, but now he wondered. The way Sam was wiping a stray tear from her face made him think that maybe he'd done okay.

He took her left hand and then hesitated.

"The answer's still yes, isn't it? I mean—if you've changed your mind…?"

Sam nodded vigorously.

"It's still yes," she whispered. Jack smiled. Relief spread over him.

"Good!" And he slipped the ring over a finger that seemed a great deal smaller than it had a mere few weeks before.

He leaned forward to kiss her forehead, but somehow she found the strength to pull him to her for a much more rewarding kiss.

Oh yes. She was definitely on the road to recovery.

In a few weeks time, she'd be back out there, fighting the Ori.

Then he could start worrying all over again.

He'd get Lam to keep her off-duty for as long as she could. Tell Landry to have her muck around with that Merlin phase-shifting device. She couldn't get into too much trouble sequestered in her lab with that thing. It wasn't much, but it would buy them a little time.

And right now, time was all Jack could hope for.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**BETWEEN THE LINES**

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

The hand struck her before she even realized it had been raised. Unprepared she staggered backward, nearly losing her balance and grabbing onto a chair back to steady herself. She could taste the blood in her mouth.

She stared at Jonas in disbelief, a mixture of anger and grief boiling up within her. Her defense training kicked in and she immediately threw up her guard, but it didn't help the inner part of her that was also wounded by the blow.

He jeered at her.

"What's this? You think you can take me on? Go ahead, just try it…!"

His eyes had a glazed, crazed look, like he couldn't wait for her to come at him. Sweat was forming little beads around his hairline and his skin was mottled and flushed with heat.

Sam stared at him for a minute and then dropped her hands. Still breathing hard from the ten minutes of shouting that had preceding him striking her, she shook her head.

"You know, Jonas. You're just not worth it." And although she had been trained never to turn her back on an enemy, Sam deliberately turned on her heels and headed toward the door.

"Don't you dare leave, Sam! So help me…. You can't walk out on me! You're mine!"

He came up behind her in a rush. Sam turned with a round kick and swept his legs out from under him so he landed on the tile floor with a sickening thud. She took momentary satisfaction in seeing the stunned look on his face, but it was fleeting. The whole scene was too ugly to find anything good in it.

"Don't—" she held up a finger warningly. "Don't you ever, EVER, touch me again. It's over, Jonas. Accept it. And leave me the hell alone."

Turning again, she reached the door and left. Even as she hurried down the stairs and out to her car she could hear him yelling obscenities at her through the closed door. It was only when she was several miles away that she pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. Leaning her head on the steering wheel she let out her fear and anger and loss.

She'd seen this coming. Ever since he'd gotten back from the Middle East he was different. More controlling. More volatile. More violent. The violence had never been directed at her—until now—but it didn't mean there hadn't been times when she'd been afraid. He'd followed her to her graduate classes, to make sure she was where she told him she'd be. He called her in the middle of the night and accused her of being with someone else. He'd even gone so far as to insist that she resign her commission from the Air Force because he didn't want to risk them being assigned to different postings after they were married. When she'd refused, he'd sworn at her, called her names she had never thought to hear coming from the mouth of the man who supposedly loved her. Sam knew then that she couldn't marry him—that the young lieutenant she'd fallen in love with had somehow transformed into a foul-mouthed, manipulative powder keg that she was afraid would go off at any moment.

Like the episode back at the house had just proven.

She was well rid of him. She touched the tender spot on her lip and tried to wipe away the smear of blood that had trickled down the side of her chin. She'd never tell anyone about this. Especially not her dad, who probably wouldn't be too terribly disappointed to learn that the marriage was off. He'd never particularly liked Jonas. Which wasn't surprising, really, as she and her father rarely ever agreed on anything these days.

"_Why didn't you tell me what he did to you?"_

_Sam whirled around. The car she was in vanished and she was standing…where was she standing? It was dark and echoing. A room? A cave? The floor was hard. Smooth. Man-made then. A room. And the light…it was faint. But what was its source? Nothing from overhead. Nothing from any direction. It was just…there._

_And into it stepped a person._

_Her father._

"_Dad?"_

_Jacob gave her a little smile._

"_Hey there, kiddo."_

_Sam gaped in amazement._

"_Dad—what are you doing…where am I? What is this place?"_

_He didn't answer right away but simply continued to gaze at her._

_Realization struck her._

"_Wait a minute…I thought…you're…you're supposed to be dead."_

_Jacob nodded in acknowledgement._

"_I am."_

_Sam looked around, panic rising inside of her._

"_Then that must mean that I'm…."_

_Jacob cut her off._

"_Not necessarily."_

"_So you're saying, I'm _not_ dead?"_

_Jacob shrugged._

"_Does it matter?"_

_Sam looked at him in disbelief._

"_Does it matter? It sure as hell does matter!"_

_Jacob mulled this over for a moment._

"_Okay. Well, if it matters, then you're not dead."_

"_If I'm not dead, then what am I?" asked Sam, even more confused._

"_It's…complicated, Sam."_

_Sam closed he eyes and shook her head._

"_This has to be a dream. I could have sworn a minute ago I was…"_

"_With Jonas Hansen?"_

_Sam's eyes flew open._

"_Yes!"_

_Jacob nodded._

"_You were…kind of. Why didn't you ever tell me what he did to you? I'd have…"_

"_That's exactly why I didn't tell you. What the hell was that, anyway?"_

_Jacob shrugged again._

"_A memory—in a way."_

_Sam studied him, wondering. She'd seen too many strange things, encountered too many false realities to take anything at face value. Fifth had tried to make her believe things that weren't real. This could be just another alien technology at work._

"_A memory," she repeated, suspiciously._

"_Look, Sam. I know what you're thinking. That maybe you're dealing with Replicators or the Ori or something that's making you see things that aren't real. I swear to you, Sam. That's not the case."_

"_And I'm supposed to believe you?"_

_Jacob shook his head in frustration._

"_I knew you'd be reluctant to go along with this."_

"_With what, exactly? So far you haven't explained a damned thing. Not even where that—" she flailed helplessly, still shaken by having relived the scene with Jonas. "That memory came from."_

_Jacob sighed._

"_Okay. Listen. I know this is going to be difficult for you to believe. I know you don't trust me. But it really is me, Sam, and I'm here to help you."_

_Sam's eyes narrowed._

"_Help me how, exactly?"_

_Jacob looked at her sadly._

"_Okay. Look. Maybe this will help you understand."_

_The darkness was suddenly replaced by an incredibly bright light. Sam had to blink several times before her eyes became accustomed to it. She realized it was coming from a bright lamp shining directly in her eyes. She stepped out of its direct beam and recognized where she was. It was the SGC's OR._

"_Dr. Lam. Report." Said a disembodied voice. Sam looked up and saw General Landry above in the observation room, speaking into the intercom._

_Next to him was Jack._

_One of the gowned figures standing next to her spoke._

"_Her injuries are extensive. We'll do our best, sirs"_

_Sam glanced down and noted there was a patient on the table, but her eyes quickly returned to Jack. He was staring intently down at the room, his face drawn and ashen, looking suddenly a lot older than she remembered._

_Jacob was next to her._

"_Dad…what's going on?"_

"_You're dying, Sam."_

_She turned and gaped at him. He shrugged and indicated the operating table._

"_That's you. You were hit by an Ori lance blast."_

_For the first time Sam paid attention to the inert form on the table and felt fingers of fear creep up her spine as she realized the person on the table was herself. That would explain Jack._

_She blinked, still uncertain._

"_Then this is, what, like an out of body experience?"_

_Jacob nodded._

"_Yeah. You could call it that. Look, you said it yourself, Sam. You've given your whole life in pursuit of answers. Scientific answers. Even now, in the middle of this," he indicated the surreal scene before them, "You're still trying to figure out the whys and hows, rather than just accept what you see. But there's more, Sam. So much more. And you'd just started to realize it when you knew you were going to die back there on that planet."_

The pain. Was dull. Constant. Like a low. Frequency. Hum. That wouldn't. Go away. Breathing was. Hard. She could feel. Her own. Rasping breaths. Becoming. Shallower. Cam. Was having. A hard time. Looking her. In the eye. He knew. She was dying. So did. She. Breathing was. Hard.

Letters. She'd told Cam. About the letters. Cassie. Jack. Had she said. Jack aloud? No. She didn't. Think so. Jack. She'd never. Been this. Close. To death. Without. Jack. By. Her side. Jack. He'd grieve. A lot. Too much. Maybe. Her letter. Would help. She hoped. It would. She wished. She didn't. Have to. Leave him. So soon. It hurt. Worse than. Dying.

Cam. Was talking. She couldn't. Focus. Thoughts. Words. Jumbling.

"…well—we lost Jackson. I can't lose you too."

She struggled. Focused. Fought for. Lucidity. She batted back. The pain and the morphine. A few moments of clarity came.

"I spent my entire life dedicated to science," she managed. " Last ten years. Trying to convince people they believed in false gods."

The breathing was. Harder again. She was. Losing. She tried. Again.

"I don't feel like science is going to help me," she confessed, finding the breath. "Right now. I'm just hoping. Somewhere. One of those gods…."

_Cam's face blurred and became Jacob's. The pain ebbed. She could breathe again with no difficulty. They were back at the SGC and she was standing next to Dr. Lam, watching her blood-soaked gloves work their way deep into the gaping, oozing wound of the Sam Carter who lay on the operating table._

_She looked up at her father. He wore the same look of sympathy he had when he'd told her he was dying. But it was aimed at her, not the form on the table._

"_How do you do that?" she asked. She had, for those few moments, been back on the planet, dying. It had felt as real as Jonas' hand striking her face._

"_It's not me, Sam. It's you. You're the one who has these memories stored up. I'm just here to walk you through them."_

"_Yeah—but why? Why these memories? I still don't…  
_

"_Okay, Sam. I'll lay it out for you as plain as I can. Your body there might live or it might die. In either case, you need to be prepared for what comes afterward, whether it's in life or in death."_

"_And how, exactly, do I do that? Get prepared, I mean?"_

"_You ever hear the saying 'life must be lived forward, but it can only be understood backward'?"_

_Sam shook her head._

"_No—."_

_Jacob looked disappointed._

"_Oh. Well. In a way, that's what you're going to get to do. Be ready to go forward by going back."_

"_Back--you mean, like into those memories?"_

_Sam shuddered inwardly. They were worse than memories. They were worse even than the Tok'ra memory recall devices. They were living the experience over again, complete with sight, sound and sensation. It was…unnerving._

"_Pretty much, yeah."_

_Great. Just what she needed._

"_So—do I get to pick the memories?" she asked, half joking, but Jacob nodded._

"_In a way, you do, since you're the only one who knows exactly what it is you need to find in those memories that will let you move forward."_

"_And then what?"_

_Jacob's mouth made a funny twist that was a half smile._

"_Then you live. Or you die. But you'll be ready, either way. That is, if you're willing to do this."_

"_Kinda my life passing before my eyes?" Sam asked._

_Jacob smiled fully._

"_You could say that."_

_Sam took a deep breath. She glanced at herself on the table and then up at Jack. _

"_What if I don't want to do this? What if I decided to just, I don't know—wait?"_

"_Well, that's up to you, Sam. I'm not here to force you to do anything. I'm just saying, I think you'll be better off if you take this little trip down memory lane than if you don't. It made all the difference in the world for me."_

"_You did this when you died?"_

"_Not this last time, no. But I did before—before you took me to the Tok'ra. When I was in the hospital and you were off-world."_

_Understanding was beginning to come._

"_You were different after that. I just assumed it was Selmak's influence."_

"_A lot of it was. But for Selmak to talk, someone had to listen. And believe me, I was a much better listener after I died than before—I think you'll agree."_

_Sam looked at he dad with a whole new understanding. The mellowing, the reaching out, the willingness to embrace change—all the things she'd attributed to Selmak—had really come out of her father's brief brush with death. All these years and she had never known._

"_Who was there for you?" she found herself asking, although she already knew the answer. A warm smile spread across her father's face._

"_Your mother," he said gently. Sam felt her eyes swimming and she turned away—back to the window where Jack still stood, stock still. There were others in the room now, she could see. Teal'c. Vala. Cam. A deathbed vigil. Except she wasn't dead yet. _

_Jacob was beside her again, following her gaze._

"_They're worried about you."_

"_Yeah," said Sam, in a husky voice._

"_They care about you," Jacob continued. "Especially Jack."_

_Sam cleared her throat._

"_Yeah. Dad…Jack and I…."_

"_I know, Sam. I always did. Not that I thought it was a good idea—not at first, anyway. But I came around. There's nothing quite as appealing to a father as a man who's absolutely devoted to his daughter."_

"_I don't want to hurt him." She couldn't take her eye off Jack, who, in turn, hadn't taken his eyes off of her motionless form on the table next to her._

"_Yeah. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."_

_There was violent movement on the table next to her and Sam instinctively jumped out of the way. She thought of Merlin's phase-shifting device and how this wasn't a whole lot different—able to see and hear everything but unable to touch or interact. A painful sort of limbo._

_All around her a great deal of commotion ensued. Monitors were sounding. Lam was speaking in a loud, urgent voice while others scurried about for various items. She heard the whine as the defibrulator began to charge and Lam shouting:_

_Clear!_

_Sam watched her body arch with the shock that followed and heard the rhythmic pulse of the monitor start up once again._

_Even though she could hardly bear to, she looked up at Jack. His face had gone completely blank, as it did when he was shutting down, trying to force the emotions down to some deep place where no one, not even himself, would find them._

_This was not fair. Not fair at all. She was tired of it. There was always something interfering. Something causing one or the other of them pain. Goa'ulds. Replicators. Ori. His doubts. Her fears. Not for the first time she wished there was a place they could go to leave it all behind._

_Except there wasn't. _

_They'd dealt with near-misses before. Knew in their hearts that the odds were one day going to come up against them. _

_But she never thought she'd ever be forced to watch Jack witness her own death. Dying was bad enough. Seeing it reflected in his eyes…. _

_It was not fair._

"_No one said it ever was, Sam," said Jacob gently._

_She wheeled on him, her eyes stinging, her anger beginning to seethe._

"_Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making me see this?"_

"_I'm not," replied Jacob simply. "You are."_

"_What?!"_

"_We wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be," he explained._

"_What—you think I __want__ to be here?" cried Sam, incredulously._

"_We can leave whenever you like."_

"_Yeah—well, how about right now."_

_The OR vanished and Sam was back in the blackened room with the dim, sourceless light. She let out a long breath and realized she was shaking. Anger. Agony. Maybe fear. She didn't know why. She didn't care. At least she didn't have to watch Jack watch her die._

"_See?" said Jacob from behind her. "You're in control here. Not me."_

"_If I'm in control, then let's just end this now. No memories. No out-of-body journey through my life. Really, Dad. I just want to go back."_

"_I know you do. And if that's what you want, I won't stop you. In fact, I can't stop you. But I'm telling you, Sam. You'll be missing an opportunity that won't come again. And it could make a difference in what happens next, regardless of what's going on back there."_

_Dimly in the distance a hazy view of the OR appeared, like lights going up on a stage. And just as quickly, the light faded and Sam found herself staring at the darkness._

_She closed her eyes and tried to quell the turmoil inside. All she wanted to do was to go to Jack. To put her arms around him and tell him it was okay. She was okay. But it would be like trying to embrace a hologram. And he would never know she was there. He would only see the physical part of her; the part that was balancing precariously on the line between life and death._

_Sam opened her eyes and looked at her father._

"_If I do this, then I can go back, right? Be back in my own body for a little while? Even if I eventually—you know—die?"_

"_Absolutely." _

_Sam took a deep, resolute breath._

"_Okay. Sure. Fine. Let's do this. The quicker the better."_

"_Well, I don't know how quick it will be. That's up to…."_

"_Me. I know. I'm starting to get the picture here, Dad."_

"_Hey. Don't get mad at me. I don't make the rules."_

"_About that—who does?"_

_Jacob looked at her indulgently._

"_You were the one who asked for help, Sam. You figure it out."_

"_I thought you were supposed to help me?"_

"_I'm supposed to guide you, Sam. The answers you have to find for yourself."_

"_Yeah. Starting to get that,." she said wearily. "So—what do I do next? And don't…" she held up a finger warningly at her father. "Don't you dare tell me it's up to me…."_

_Jacob grinned at her. _

"_Actually, I was going to say anytime you're ready."_

_Sam bit her lower lip and took a deep breath._

"_Now, I guess."_

"Mark—don't do this." She was pleading mostly to her brother's back, but at the moment it was the only part of him she could see. He had kept it to her through the whole conversation. Well, conversation wasn't exactly what she'd call it. More of a monologue really. Her talking. Him ignoring her.

Two huge suitcases sat opened on his bed. One contained the contents of his closet, the clothes haphazardly thrown in and crushed down to make as much space as possible. The other held an odd assortment of his belongings. Cassettes. Books. His journals. A chess trophy. An assortment of posters, carefully rolled. Their mother's picture. More telling was what was being left behind. Sports awards. Model planes. Everything that had any attachment to the Air Force or their father. It all sat in a discarded heap in the corner. Even, Sam noted, the last family picture they'd had taken a couple of months before Mom had died.

She stooped to pick it up.

"Take it," he told her, the first words out of his mouth since she'd entered the room. "I don't want it."

Smiling out of the photo were her father and mother, herself and Mark, three years younger than they were now. Clueless, she thought. Happy and naïve and clueless. They'd never all smile like that ever again.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked for the dozenth time, not expecting an answer. But to her surprise Mark turned to her. At fifteen his growth spurt hadn't quite finished and being older, she was still taller than he was. But there was a maturity to him that his height couldn't match and a burden in his eyes that shouldn't have been there. Sam knew it was in her own as well. The wariness that sudden loss brought; the fear that any moment something else might vanish without warning and start the pain all over again.

"I can't live here anymore, Sam. Not with _him_. And not with you, if you're going to be just like him."

A lump formed in Sam's throat. Her acceptance into the Air Force Academy had precipitated this. When the letter had come Mark's face had paled and gone blank, a coldness settling over him. Silence had followed, then his announcement: he was going to go live with Aunt Carrie, their mother's sister, in San Diego. Their dad had tried talking to him, but Mark's mind was made up, and in the end Jacob had relented. Sam didn't know who she was more angry at: Mark for leaving, or her dad for letting him go.

But she hadn't realized that his blanket hatred of their dad and the Air Force had now expanded to include her.

"Mark—this isn't about Dad. I've always wanted to do this."

"No!" replied Mark sharply. "You've always wanted to be an astronaut. Not an Air Force officer."

"I can still apply to NASA. And I'll probably have a better chance this way. Dad says…."

Mark cut her off.

"It's the Air Force, Sam. Don't kid yourself. And don't try to make me believe that this is your best path to space. The only reason—the _only_ reason you're doing this is to please _him_. You've done it all your life—trying to keep up with him. Trying to measure up to his expectations of you. You're brilliant, Sam. Absolute genius. You could go anywhere: Stanford, MIT—but no, you're going to follow him into the military—to have the same kind of life he's had—and pass that same miserable existence on to your kids, if you even ever have any. Look at what he's done to us, Sam! Look at how we've lived! No place longer than a couple of years. No friends that lasted longer than his last posting. The only thing that made it in any way tolerable was Mom. And he took her from us too."

"That's not fair, Mark. It was an accident." Sam interrupted, stinging under her brother's words and the tone of his voice.

"I don't want to hear it Sam. He screwed up. She got in that taxi. She died. If he'd have been there for her—but he never was. Never. And now you're going to be just like him."

The finality of his tone told her that he was done talking. Mark turned his back to her once more and resumed his packing. Even though a hundred responses jetted through her mind, Sam clamped her mouth and kept them all within. Mark had divorced himself emotionally from their dad the day Mom had died and now he was divorcing himself from Sam in the same way. Looking down at the picture of the smiling family, a wave of grief flooded her from the very pit of her stomach. It wasn't just her mother who had died that horrible day three years ago; it was her entire family. The images swam and blurred and she knew there was no point in talking further. Hugging the frame to her chest and deliberately stifling a sob, she left Mark to his packing, the anguish of her mother's death and her brother's disownment washing over her in nauseous waves.

"_He really hated me then," remarked Jacob, sadly. Sam spun to look at him, the memory of her brother's room fading so suddenly she felt a certain sense of vertigo. The nausea of grief still stayed with her and her stomach roiled in protest of the added sensation of displacement. _

"_And me," she added, still trying to keep her gorge from rising. Oh this was way worse than the Tok'ra's device. Exponentially worse._

"_Honestly, I thought he'd be back home in a month. That's the only reason I let him go," Jacob confessed. Sam was momentarily distracted by his admission._

"_I always thought you just gave up on him," she said, surprised. Jacob shook his head._

"_Not for a long time. I hoped…but, hey. It turned out okay, you know?"_

"_Because of Selmak," Sam pointed out. It was the Tok'ra who'd prodded her father into trying again with Mark._

"_Yeah. Sure. Selmak gave me the push. But I couldn't have done it without you coming too."_

"_Life's too short," said Sam, and suddenly realized how true that old cliché was. All she had to do was think about that OR table and Jack's grieving face._

"_It is, isn't it?" was all Jacob said, although he smiled slightly._

"_I was angry at Mark for a very long time," Sam finally owned up. "It was bad enough to lose Mom; but when he left—suddenly we weren't a family anymore."_

"_Then Selmak did us both a favor," Jacob pointed out. Sam had to concede the point._

"_Mark was right about one thing," her father went on . "You did join the Air Force to please me."_

_Sam was silent. She had mulled Mark's accusation over and over in her mind many times, trying it on for size. Her mother had always guided her, but her father had been the one who challenged her. Do more. Be more. Reach higher. Run farther. She had admired him for as long as she could remember—at least until the accident. Then the admiration had slipped a little. But he had tried—reached out to her through her grieving and offered her the only thing he knew: the Air Force. And, desperate to not be alone, desperate to meet that challenge he had put before her, she had accepted._

"_Yeah, I did," she acknowledged. "I thought…."_

_She hesitated, not sure she was ready to have this conversation._

"_You thought what, Sam?"_

"_I thought that if I worked hard enough, accomplished all those things we used to talk about, that maybe…." She couldn't go on._

"_Sam?" Jacob's voice was solicitous. Sam wiped the back of her hand across her nose. Damn. She wasn't actually crying was she?_

"_That maybe…I wouldn't disappoint you."_

_Jacob knit his brows, as if trying to comprehend what she said._

"_How, in God's name, could you ever disappoint me, Sam? I've been proud of you since the moment you were born."_

"_Could've fooled me."_

_It came out before she realized it, and if she could have taken it back, she would have. But it hung out there between them as if it echoed in the dark chamber. Jacob looked stunned._

"_You're serious?" he said, in disbelief, his features pained._

_Too late now, thought Sam. Might as well forge ahead._

"_Yeah. I guess I am. I never thought anything I did measured up—until you found out about the Stargate Program. Even when I earned the Airman's Medal and you had no idea why, it still didn't measure up to your expectations. You should have just accepted that my work, whatever it was, was important to me and not tried to shoehorn me into the space program without even talking to me."_

"_That was a long time ago, Sam. I'm not the same person I was then."_

"_No—you're not," Sam conceded, trying to soften her tone. She hadn't meant to dig up all that frustration from so many years ago, but the memory of her brother's departure had dredged up old emotions. "And I loved how you changed. But it wasn't always that way, Dad. We both know it."_

_Jacob smiled ruefully._

"_Yeah. I guess I could be an SOB some of the time. I guess I should be grateful for second chances."_

_Sam tried to smile warmly back. The anger was fading._

"_I am. And I know Mark was too."_

"_Good. At least I wasn't a total failure as a father—at least not in the end, anyway."_

The tok'ra stepped back out of the way as Sam hurried into the room and over to the bed. His breathing was shallow, filled with effort. She could see him trying to form words with breath that would not come.

"I…love…you…."

"_No!" Sam protested loudly. "Not that one. I won't live that over again."_

_The image, mercifully, vanished._

"_Told you. You're flying this plane, Sam."_

"_Am I done yet? Wait—don't say it. It's up to me."_

"Medic! Medic!"

Daniel's voice reached a level of panic Sam had never heard before, but she hardly did more than register it as an anomaly. A cold terror squeezed her that had nothing to do with the staff blasts and the P90 fire that was ripping the air about it. One blast landed close by, shattering a boulder and sending shards of rock spraying in all direction. She hunkered down over the fallen body she knelt beside and tried to shield it from any further assault. A piece of stone grazed her cheek, but she ignored it. The only thing that mattered, the only thing that she cared anything about at that moment was the body of Jack O'Neill and the enormous gaping staff blast burned into his combat vest.

More shrapnel. She threw herself over him again. Somewhere she registered Daniel's voice over the radio, panic turning to despair. So not-Daniel. Something must be wrong. Very, very wrong. As wrong as Jack lying beneath her protective stance, not moving.

With shaking hands she tried to find a pulse, but either her own inability to control her muscles or the lack of one to find made it impossible. She leaned her face close to his, trying to feel some sensation of breathing, but the air was too charged with weapon blasts to feel anything that slight. Finally she fumbled with his vest, prising it apart to lay her ear against his chest, her own heart in her throat, trying to listen for his. Too damn much noise. She couldn't tell…she just couldn't tell….

"Medic! Fraiser's been hit! Oh God! She's dead!"

Daniel again. Daniel…?

She struggled to find her radio and finally flipped the switch.

"Daniel?" she shouted into it. "Say again?"

"Sam? Oh, God, Sam! It's Janet—he shot her. A Jaffa—she's dead!"

Sam threw herself away from Jack and vomited. Pulsating waves of nausea surged over her until there was nothing left. The bitter taste in her mouth lingered long after the dry heaves had left her shaking even more violently than before. Janet… Oh God. Janet. Jack. What the hell had gone wrong?

The sounds of the firefight were lessening. The battle was moving away from her. She swirled, weapon raised, as a crashing noise sounded close to her, but dropped her weapon point when she saw it was Teal'c. His frown of concern told her he had seen Jack fall. In a moment he was by her side.

"What is his condition?" he asked breathless, as close to panic as Sam had ever seen him.

She shook her head.

"I…I don't know. I can't tell…there's too much…" but Teal'c was leaning over him, ear pressed to his chest. Now that the fighting was moving off, he might hear something. A moment later he straightened up.

"He lives, but I believe it would be prudent to get him back through the gate as quickly as possible."

Sam nodded.

"Yeah. But how are we going to do that? They've got us cut off."

The big Jaffa studied the area. Sam could see the bodies of several of the Jaffa lying amidst the rocks and bushes. There must have been a lot of them to lose so many and still give three SG teams a run for their money.

Teal'c seemed to have reached a conclusion.

"Remain with O'Neill," he told her. "I will reconnoiter and see which route is best back to the gate."

And with that he left. Sam stared down into Jack's unconscious face. His forehead was spattered with mud and his chin had a thin line of dried blood to one side—probably a shaving accident, not a wound. Sam placed her hand to his cheek and gently turned his head toward her.

"Colonel—Sir—can you hear me?"

But his head lolled to the side and there was no indication of any awareness of her whatsoever. She leaned her head down to his chest again, hoping to hear what Teal'c had. She had an overwhelming urge to rest her head on his chest, to gather him in her arms and hold him, to stroke the silvering hair, cut so close to his head as he seemed to prefer wearing it these days.

Her radio crackled, causing her to jump. The thoughts vanished.

"Major Carter!" Teal'c's voice rumbled through. "The Jaffa are retreating. We will be able to retake the gate momentarily. When we succeed, I will return the same way I came. Watch for me."

"Copy that, Teal'c. Hurry," she added, worriedly eyeing Jack. The vest had prevented the killing blast, but who knew what type of neurological damage the charge has caused. Janet….

Oh God. Janet.

She thumbed her radio.

"Daniel? Daniel are you there."

There was a long moment before the static burst heralded his reply. Sam couldn't help but notice the abject weariness in his voice.

"I'm here, Sam."

"What's your status?" she asked. Maybe she had heard him wrong. Maybe he was mistaken….

"We're okay now. The jaffa have gone. I've got a medic treating Wells. We'll bring him back with…" his voice choked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "We'll bring him back with, ah, Janet as soon as Jack gives the all clear."

Sam hated to do it to him, but she had no choice.

"Daniel—the Colonel's been hit. He's down. We know he's still alive, but we need to get him back to the SGC ASAP. Teal'c and Colonel Dixon are clearing out the way back. Be ready for the signal."

"Copy that," came Daniel's voice, muffled. Sam waited a moment and commed him back.

"Daniel—you okay?"

It was several seconds before he answered, quietly and desolately.

"No. No I'm not." And with that he went silent.

His simple and honest admission broke through Sam's last barrier. Jack's face swam before her eyes as the tears filled them and spilled down her cheeks. Janet. Oh God. Janet. Cassie…poor Cass! What was she going to do? Jack—an inch lower—she'd be calling for a body bag for him as well.

She wiped the tears away, angrily. What the hell was she doing? Crying? She'd lost colleagues and friends before. Whole SG teams had died. Martouf. Narim. Skarra and the entire population of Abydos. Where were her tears for them?

But God! Janet! Sam's gut hurt, just thinking of it. No. Janet should be back in the infirmary, fighting virus' and infections and the occasional over-dressed goa'uld, not a bunch of jaffa in the middle of an ambush. How screwed up could this day get?

She looked back down at Jack and felt a fist of fear grab her heart. What if he didn't survive this? What if Dr. Lee's ceramic polymer only postponed death, not prevented it? A future without Jack in it…her future without Jack in it…the reality of it brought her up short. She thought she'd been prepared to step away from him. This Pete Shanahan her brother had introduced her to had made it easier. Pete was romantic and funny and he had absolutely no problem telling her and showing her how he was feeling about her. No guess work involved.

It was one thing for her to step away from Jack; it was another to have him wrenched away from her—forever.

She didn't know what she'd do.

She looked at his face, unmoving and yet somehow blissfully peaceful. She had never particularly considered whether he was handsome or not—although, she had to admit, even here, he was. It was Jack himself, his self-deprecating humor, his keen ability to size up a person or a situation in nothing flat, his feigned denseness—all classic Jack. Along with what lay hidden beneath. Sam didn't begin to understand the layers to the man, and in the seven years they had worked together, she had seen plenty of them. But there were deep places in Jack's soul where no one was allowed—not even, she thought, himself. And although she knew she would never ever see those depths, they were still part of what made Jack, well, Jack.

The bushes rustled and Sam went on alert. A jaffa stick appeared. Teal'c? The glint off a metal skullcap. No. A stray jaffa. She lined up her "Carter special" as Jack called it, and took aim. The jaffa dropped with the first shot and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

"Major Carter, come this way."

Sam nearly jumped out of her skin. Whirling she saw Teal'c behind her, squatting again next to Jack.

"I will carry O'Neill. You may take point."

She didn't mind taking orders from Teal'c. Her brain was too numb to think, anyway. She just wanted to get Jack back through the gate, make sure he was going to be okay, check on Daniel. Verify that Janet….

She felt sick again.

Just get to the gate. The rest she would worry about when she got there.

"_Sam?"_

_Vertigo again. The brightness of P3X-666 vanished and she felt momentarily blinded by the darkness. Jacob was looking at her with concern. Her whole body was trembling, uncontrollable waves of spasms, as if she were in shock._

"_Dad?" she asked, unable to moderate the panic in her voice._

"_It's okay. You're okay. Just let it go," he said soothingly. Easier said than done, Sam thought, trying to calm her muscles. They would not respond, which was odd, she thought, since she really wasn't corporally here, but back on that operating table._

"_Actually, you're in recovery now," Jacob corrected her. "Jack's with you."_

"_Then I'm going to be okay?" she said, pushing aside how disconcerting it was to have your father able to read your thoughts._

_Jacob shrugged._

"_I didn't say that. It's still touch and go. For a while longer, anyway."_

_Sam closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, focused on relaxing. After a moment her body stilled and she opened her eyes again, to see her father studying her._

"_I never wanted to live that day again, ever," she said, trying to tone down the anger in her voice. "Why did I have to?"_

"_There must be something there you needed to see, Sam."_

_Sam shook her head._

"_What? My best friend die? Jack nearly get killed? How is that supposed to be helpful?"_

_Jacob just looked at her and she knew he wasn't going to help her._

"_Okay, okay. I know. I have to figure this out myself."_

"_So tell me, what happened after that?" Jacob asked her._

"_You know what happened…the NID launched an investigation, that Bregman guy finished his film. We had a memorial for Janet…."_

"_No. I mean, what happened to you," he made a gesture of actually pointing at Sam. She looked directly at her father and said the first thing that came to her._

"_I was afraid."_

_The silence that followed was absolute. In all her life Sam could not ever remember making that admission aloud. With the emotion of the memory seeping away, it was easier to understand. And what stood out over everything else, the grief, the anger, the confusion, was the lingering fear._

_Jacob let her stew on this for a moment. Then he spoke._

"_You've been afraid before; you've been in fire fights, hand to hand, trapped on exploding ships, faced overwhelming odds, hunted by goa'uld and replicators, concussed and alone aboard a ship lost in some nebula…why was this any different?"_

_Sam furrowed her brow. Everything he said was true. They'd come up against death many times. But this had been different._

_This time, death had won._

"_We weren't invincible anymore. Janet's death…I suddenly realized, we could lose people. People close to us. We weren't always going to beat the odds, no matter how resourceful we were. We'd scraped by so many times by the skin of our teeth, it became almost a cliché. I had gotten to where I'd taken it for granted. But not this time. And not ever again."_

"_What about Jack?"_

_Sam was confused._

"_What about him?"_

"_You almost lost him too. I would have thought that might have, you know. Had some impact on you."_

_Sam thought back to that time. It was a blur. A jumbled, confusing collage of events and emotions._

"_I thought I needed to move on. Jack and I…I mean I tried. But then Anubis attacked and Fifth showed up—there just wasn't time. And besides, Jack has this funny way of pushing people away if he thinks something he does might hurt them."_

"_I don't think he's the only one."_

_Sam was perplexed._

"_What—you mean me?" she asked, finally._

"_Look, Sam. I'm just saying, you've done a pretty good job at keeping people at arms length yourself. Just look at all these memories you've dredged up. What do you see when you look at them all? What's the same in every scene?"_

_Sam gave him a tight smile._

"_I understand, Dad. I do."_

_His look was indulgent._

"_Sam…"_

"_I get it, Dad. Really."_

"_I don't think you do." He sighed. "Okay. Think, Sam. Why didn't you tell me about Jonas?"_

_Sam shook her head._

"_I don't know—I was ashamed, I guess, that I'd made such a huge mistake. It was my problem, not anyone else's."_

_Jacob pondered this._

"_I see. And when Mark left, where did you go with that?"_

_Sam shrugged._

"_No where. I was as angry at you as I was at him. It was a family thing."_

"_What about Janet?"_

"_I had Cassie."_

_Jacob cocked an eyebrow at her. Sam backtracked._

"_Okay, technically, I guess, Cassie had me. I had to be strong for her sake. I couldn't give her my pain too."_

"_So basically, when Janet died, you grieved alone?"_

"_No—I mean we all grieved for her—but it was just something we all sucked up. We didn't talk about it. Like when Daniel died—ascended. Whatever."_

"_So, like I said, you were pretty much…."_

"_Alone. Yeah. I guess."_

_She finally saw where Jacob was leading her._

_He held up his hands in a "well?" gesture. _

"_I guess I do kinda keep things to myself too," Sam admitted._

"_Always did. Even as a little girl. Your mother would find you crying over something and she could never get you to tell her what it was about. You kept it all bottled up inside you, and you wouldn't let anyone in. I blame myself, actually."_

"_You? Why?" asked Sam, confused._

"_I think I gave you the 'good little soldier' speech a few too many times. You applied it to everything, Sam. Your professional life—your personal life—even your emotional life."_

"_Yeah," Sam tried a half-hearted grin. "Sometimes that 'way of the warrior' crap really sucks, Dad."_

_Jacob tossed her a mirthless smile in agreement._

"_I almost found that out too late," he admitted._

"_Look, Dad, I see where all of this is going. And the thing is, I think I'm a different person than I was when all these things happened. I finally figured out that I didn't have to keep the wall up all the time—it was like you said. I'd let rules stand in the way of what I wanted. Once I got beyond that—I've been happy. Really happy. Now…can I just get back to my life—or death—please?"_

"_To be honest, Sam, I don't think you're ready."_

_Sam stared at him. This was ridiculous. She'd gotten the point. What more was there?_

"_What? How much more of this do I have to go through? Look, Dad. I'm tired, okay. I just want to be back there…" The room did the stage-lights up again, and this time she saw the recovery room, herself hooked up to a half dozen monitors and Jack, sitting by her bedside, his hand holding hers. He looked even more tired that when she'd seen him last and his eyes, dark and withdrawn, seemed a million miles away. She couldn't bear it and willed the image to vanish. Mercifully, it did._

"_Trust me, Sam. You're close. You really are. But you haven't quite filled in the blanks yet."_

_This was too hard. She felt worse than she imagined she would lying in that bed she had just seen. At this point a little physical pain would have been a welcome relief from this gut-wrenching trip through her emotional past. _

"_Don't give up now, kiddo. Believe me. You're going to thank me for this. I promise."_

_Sam regarded her father with suspicion._

"_You know something."_

_He shook his head._

"_I know nothing for certain, Sam. Just…possibilities"_

_Sam chewed her lip and finally nodded. Obviously, the only way she was ever going to get to go back was if she saw this through to the bitter end. She had come this far. She might as well complete it. Steeling her gut for whatever remaining onslaught her mind could unleash, she nodded._

"_Okay, then. Let's finish this."_

She could not make herself pull away from his kiss. The warmth of his mouth on hers was a sensation she would never tire of. The intimacy of this connection, the physical aspect of it, never failed to surprise her; each time was as the first time.

His hands held her shoulders, refusing to let her go, pulling her closer to him. She wanted to stay, to rest in the comfort of his arms, to hear his voice whisper against her ear as they lay in the sand under the rising suns. To pretend that they had all the time in the world to look at each other, to taste each other, to tell each other things that they knew in their hearts but had never spoken aloud. But it would only be pretending. Their time had run out. As surely as the first sun rose above the distant horizon and spread its blood red tendrils across the still sea, their time together was over and she must leave.

"Wait," said Sam abruptly. "This never happened. I never spent…." She stopped in mid-thought. "This isn't my memory. It's Jolinar's."

_Jacob gazed at her, unfazed._

"_So…?"_

"_So? I think I have enough to deal with in my own past, why do I have to go into her memories too?"_

"_Like it or not, Sam, Jolinar will always be a part of you. I think you know that."_

_Only too well, thought Sam, throwing her father a warning look. Don't you dare bring that up, she thought at him._

"_I'm only saying," he replied aloud._

"_Great. Two pasts to sort though."_

"We will miss you." It was Lantash's voice but Martouf's eyes. Jolinar loved them both, as did Rosha. They had been blended for so long they were nearly indistinguishable from one another—their thoughts, their feelings as one.

"And we shall miss you as well," she answered back, her hand pressing against his cheek. He smiled sadly and she understood that he knew. Knew that this was a mission from which she most likely would not return. "I will be well," she told him anyway. "Do not fear for me."

"Any time you are out of my sight I fear for you," he replied. "As I know you fear for me. But it is something we cannot change. We have chosen this life. We have chosen this fight. If we withdrew from it, we would be less than who we are."

She smiled at him, her heart laden with heaviness she knew she could not let him see.

"It will be fine. You will see. My plan is well laid; it will just take...time."

He leaned forward to kiss her again and she allowed herself one last time to be lost in Rosha's response to his touch. After too few moments she reluctantly pulled them both away.

"My transport awaits," she said quietly. Martouf's eyes glistened with tears even as he smiled.

"I know. I will walk with you to the chappa'ai."

"No," her response was swift. "Please. Do not come with me. I would rather you remain here."

They understood, and Martouf nodded. Standing, she brushed the sand off her leggings and gazed across the water at the second sun that was now rising. It was a fair walk to the chappa'ai and she would need to hurry. She had stayed longer than she should have, but it had been most difficult to say good-bye.

She felt him behind her and she turned to him once more, her eyes, in the new light of the day, drinking in every feature, every curve of his face, every sense of his touch, as if she had not already had nearly two hundred years to know his face as well as she knew her own.

Neither spoke, but as she turned to leave he took her hand and held it briefly, allowing hers to slip through it as she stepped away until only their fingertips touched. Refusing to turn around, she set off across the dune, the sand slowing what she had hoped would be her swift departure. She could feel him watching her, knew he would not move from where he stood until she vanished from view, but she kept her eyes fixed on the distant ring and did not look back.

"_I never had the full memory before," Sam said quietly. "Just bits and pieces, that time we came to Neytu." She shuddered as the other memories she'd dredged from Jolinar's past came back to her. _

"_What happened after she left?" Jacob asked her. Sam closed her eyes and focused her thoughts. The memory flooded her._

"_She had a transport ship. Flew it all the way to Neytu so she could infiltrate Sokor's operation. It was dangerous. Both she and Martouf understood that. But it was necessary."_

"_I mean, what happened to Jolinar?"_

_Sam winced._

"_Dad, don't make me…"_

"_You have to go there, Sam. I'm sorry." And he seemed to really mean it._

_Sam shook her head, trying to fend off the memory, but it came anyway._

Great snorting sounds reverberated from his ugly mouth as he slept. It was this way every night when, exhausted, he would collapse and fall into a deep slumber. She could hardly stand the smell of him on her, and her skin burned everywhere his hands had been. She longed to scrub herself with soap and water, to wash off any trace of him, but water was a scarce commodity in this hell, and she knew she stank of sweat and heat and Bynar's unquenchable passion. The first thing she would do when she escaped would be to bathe. Hours and hours on end soaking in water until she felt clean. If that were even possible. At this point she wasn't sure. She knew a part of her would never be rid of this vile being. His cruel and repulsive features would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life.

It had taken weeks to get to this point; endless hours of his company for him to trust her enough to not tie her to the bed before he sank into his slumber. For five days, now, she had been free and for five days she had simply found the furthest corner of the room from him and curled up in it, watching until he stirred and then returning to the bed. By the third night he had forgotten to threaten her life if she left his side. By the fourth he had sent her to bring him some wine so he would have it when he woke. By the fifth night he trusted her completely. Which was why her fingers were now curling around the medallion and her feet were running to the hidden panel, why she was activating the device and why rings were suddenly enveloping her and transporting her to Sokor's planet even as his roar of betrayal rang in her ears.

An unmanned ring platform. A handy zat'nik'tel. Three dead jaffa later she was aboard a cargo ship, performing a cold start and heading skyward, her breath coming in short bursts as her human host pushed herself to her limits. Clear of the atmosphere, she jumped to hyperspeed and locking the controls in place stripped herself of the clothes she wore and fired the zat'nik'tel three times until they vanished. It helped only a little. Shivering and naked she retrieved a tunic from the ships supplies and returned to the helm. It would take her a month to get home in this vessel. A long time to think. Maybe long enough to forget. No. Forgetting was something she would never be able to do. But she could pretend. She had to. Martouf and Lantash must never, ever know. Such knowledge would irreparably devastate them, would irrevocably damage what they'd had together for so many years. She would act as if everything were normal, and everything would be normal in their eyes. But as much as she loved him, she knew that it would be a very long time before he touched her and she didn't feel Bynar's touch, kissed her, and she didn't smell Bynar's breath, held her and she didn't feel the iron grip of muscles holding her down.

She would return to Martouf, to Lantash, but they were lost to her. And she feared she would never have them back again.

"Easy kiddo," Jacob's voice was caring and solicitous. Sam was bent over double, sick in her stomach, her head throbbing.

"_Oh God!" she moaned. Jolinar's pain burned inside her. "Oh God."_

"_I'm sorry, Sam. Really. I'm sorry."_

"_Why?" asked Sam raspily. "Why did I have to go there?" She had broken out in a cold sweat. She could feel her clothes damp against her skin, rivels trickling down her side._

"_It was the only way. The only way you'd finally understand."_

"_Understand WHAT?" cried Sam in frustration. "What am I supposed to understand?"_

"_There are things worse than death, Sam," Jacob cautioned her. "And loss can take on many different forms. You needed to be prepared. No matter what happens in that infirmary."_

_Sam sank to the floor and rested her head on her knees, hugging them. She deliberately willed the images from Jolinar's past out of her mind, but the sickening sensation remained. _

_This was taking too long. If she were dying, if her body was losing its battle, she wanted to be in it, looking at Jack through her own eyes, not from this distant spectral vantage point. She wanted to hear his voice, feel his touch, tell him she loved him. Tell him good-bye. And she couldn't do that if she were here trying to figure out this puzzle of images._

_Life has to be lived forward, but it can only be understood backward. That's what Jacob had said._

_Jonas. Mark. Janet. Martouf. She'd lost them all. In different ways, granted, but lost them, just the same. Disillusionment. Estrangement. Death. Withdrawal. So, this was about loss? Accepting it? Dealing with it? Surviving it…moving on…?_

_Because she'd been able to move on every time._

_Every time but once. Nearly._

_The frigid darkness of the elevator shaft caused her to shiver in her memory. She didn't need to replay that. It was too near. Too recent. _

_She'd survived losing everyone except Jack. Believing he was dead—and that she was responsible—well. She had all but prayed that the cable would snap._

"_Loss is about fear, Sam," her father said quietly. "And I know what your greatest fear is." _

_The tears spilled down Sam's cheek. Damn. It wasn't fair, having someone inside your head like that. Jacob eased himself to the floor next to her_

"_You've faced it many times," he continued. "But you've never had to fully deal with it."_

"_Yet." She supplied the word for him. Deal with it yet. But she had always known that one day, one horrible, God-awful, gut-wrenching day, she would. She had just never figured it would come quite like this. Sam wiped her face. Her nose would drip, even here._

"_The time will come, Sam, when you will. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not for years and years. I honestly don't know. But you need to understand this: whenever it is, however it comes—in whatever form it takes—remember. You have survived before; and you'll find a way to survive even that. No matter what the pain. The strength is inside of you, Sam. It always has been. It always will be."_

_Sam looked up at him._

"_And if I die?"_

_Jacob's face was sympathetic._

"_Loss is loss, Sam. It doesn't matter which plane of existence you're on."_

_She rested her head on her knees again, squeezing her eyes shut. Every muscle in her body ached. _

"_So—what now?" she asked wearily, her voice sounding muffled, even to he own ears._

"_So. I think it's time for you to go back…for a while at least," he replied._

_She looked up again and he was smiling at her. It gave her some courage._

"_Will you be here when I'm ready?" She asked, half hopeful, half afraid._

_Jacob gave her a knowing look and leaning forward, kissed her on her forehead._

"_If you need me, I'll be here. But you know what, kiddo? I think you're going to be okay, however it turns out. Trust me."_

_He stood up and took a few steps back. The sourceless light was dimming._

"_Dad—wait…" she started, scrambling to her feet, but he was gone._

_o-o-o-o_

_This is it, thought Sam, as she watched Dr. Lam and her team scramble around her bedside. Her body was convulsing and the monitors were going wild. Jack stood next to her, his dark eyes wide and fixated on the activity in front of him. She had been talking with him just a few hours ago. Holding his hand. Feeling his touch. Trading lame jokes. It would be for the last time. This was what Jacob had prepared her for._

_An overwhelming sorrow filled her. It was too soon. No matter what her father had told her, she wasn't ready. Leaving Jack…she couldn't do it. She wouldn't. Not yet._

_With every ounce of determination she could muster, Sam fought back._

_o-o-o-o_

_She was back in the dimly light room. But not alone. He stepped forward into the sourceless light, the silver in his hair shimmering. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets, like they always were when he was assessing a situation; appearing casual but ever so watchful and observant. When he saw her he stopped, his head tilted, one eyebrow raised._

_"Hey," he said, not seeming surprised to see her. She smiled._

"_Hey," she said back at him. She watched as a cloud of wariness passed over his eyes. He'd come to some conclusion and was steeling himself against it._

"_You're leaving me, aren't you?" His voice was husky, raw with emotion._

_Sam furrowed her brow._

"_Why would I do that?" she asked him._

"_Because you're going to die," he answered simply, although there was nothing simple in the tone of his voice._

"_Someday," she told him. "But not today."_

_A look of cautious surprise from Jack._

"_No?"_

_She smiled again and shook her head. _

"_No."_

_She could see relief spread over him, the tautness in his face relaxed. His look softened, his eye grew warm._

"_When you die, do I get to go too?" he asked, in his innocent Jack sort of way. She thought of everything Jacob had shown her, everything he had reminded her of._

"_We all have to find our own path, Jack," she replied. Better to let him find out when his time came. No need to burden him now. The light in the room brightened. Jack seemed to glow._

_She saw a look of panic darken his eyes. He didn't understand.._

"_You're not going to do that ascension thing, are you?"_

_She offered him a reassuring smile._

"_Not this time."_

_He relaxed again. His relief showing in the way he adjusted his stance and let his lips curve into a little smile._

"_So—you coming back, or what?"_

_She nodded._

"_Yeah. I've still got work to do. A galaxy to save. You know."_

_He grinned._

"_Getting old yet?"_

_She shook her head._

"_Nope."_

"_Good," he said enthusiastically. "Cuz I really need you."_

_Sam cocked her head._

"_You or the galaxy?" she asked, as if she didn't already know what he would say._

"_Both, actually," he replied. "But mostly me. I think."_

_She grinned. _

_"I know. Don't worry. I'll be around for a long while yet. You will too."_

_The look of relief on his face filled her with boundless joy._

**EPILOGUE**

Sam stared out the window of the observation room at death in slow motion. Every day for fifty years she had gazed on the same sight, the same burst of light that would, inevitably destroy them. But not, in all likelihood, until long after they were already dead.

Like General Landry.

Like Cam, considering how his memory was failing these days.

Like herself, if the scan she had done a few days ago was accurate.

Perhaps the radiation had affected Daniel and Vala as well. She didn't have the heart to tell them. Better, probably if they didn't know.

So in the end it might only be Teal'c left alone to face the final assault. He would do it nobly and with honor, she had no doubt. Probably standing on this very spot as the glass shattered and….

No. She would not allow her imagination to take her there. It was too much. She was too old and she had grieved too much for what already had been lost. She would not allow herself to grieve for what was yet to be.

She would have given up long ago, but she couldn't. Even after all this time the others still expected her to figure it out. Save them. Save the ship. Save the Asgard technology. Save the universe. Pull one final miracle out of her…brain.

But so what if she solved it now? It was too late. Jack—her Jack—would be only a few heartbeats older than when she'd left. She, on the other hand—well, all she had to do was look at her reflection in the window to see. Silver haired. Features softened to wrinkles. Stiff fingers that some days could barely enter the formulas on the keyboard. To have grown old with Jack would have been one thing; to return to him old—she could not. Better to stay here. Better to grow old and die and let the Ori's blast take out the ship. No one would ever know what they had done. No one would ever suspect that in the space of a few seconds their lives had spanned decades. It would be better that way. Better for Jack. He would never know how very much she had missed him.

But she knew. Every bone in her body knew. Every beat of her heart knew. Every breath she drew knew. Losing him was the ache that reverberated to her very soul, like the bass strings of the cello she could no longer play. And that was loss too. What she could not say aloud, what she hardly dared think, she had poured into that instrument. It became a vessel for her pain, a voice for her heartache, a vehicle that could, for a few precious moments, transport her off this ship of the damned to a concert hall where his rapt profile had filled her with as much emotion as the music itself. A brief respite before the sickening return to the reality that they were living forever in a mere moment of time.

It was how she had survived. Risen above the loss. From some deep place within her, the music had come, at once mathematically precise and yet still capable of mood and nuance and interpretation; scientific perfection and human imperfection in harmonious union. There were days when it was the only thing that kept her sane. The others had come to know when it was time to leave her alone. They never interrupted her when they heard the strains of the music coming from her lab; they never asked why she took her meals in her room on those days when the music had poured from her fingers as copiously as the tears had flowed from her eyes. They simply let her be until she was ready to face them again, knowing that her wave of grief would ebb for a while.

But now the cello was silent. Fingers would not obey, and there was no where to take the pain. Except that the pain no longer pierced her as it had for so many years, but merely throbbed, like a perpetual ache, like the ache in her fingers. Reminding her.

As if she would ever forget.

If she could turn back time, undo what she had done, erase this timeline, she would do it in a heartbeat, even if it meant instantaneous death.

If she could do it and find a way to avoid that death, it would be even better. It was the only way left. The only option she would even consider. The only way she was willing to go back.

But she had so little left to offer. One last idea danced on the edge of her brain, amorphous, as most of her ideas had begun. This one too would probably take her nowhere but back to this very spot, staring at the inevitable creeping toward her.

"There are things worse than death," her father had told her once. She knew that too well now. Loneliness. Guilt. Regret. Vows unspoken. Children unconceived. Holidays uncelebrated. Life, unlived.

There were things worse than death, but she had survived them. To what end, she was not sure, but—at least for a while longer—she was still here. She didn't know how, but she had found the strength to endure. Somehow she'd known it was within her and she'd used it to rise above the crests of pain. But that strength was nearly gone, now. She had enough left for one last attempt—one last theory. After that—well, staring out this window wasn't so bad. She would come here and look at death everyday for as long as she could. And when it finally came, in whatever form it came, she would welcome it with open arms. After all these years, it finally seemed like a friend.

Oddly comforted, Sam slowly rose from the chair and took the long way back to her lab. By the time she got there, the shadow of an idea had taken full corporal form and Sam allowed herself to feel something she hadn't felt for a very long time.

Hope.


End file.
